The Sound of Madness
by luckless-is-me
Summary: Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle... Zombie Apocalypse. Dexion Yaoi. Reduced rating.
1. The Beginning of the End

**Merry Christmas! ^_^**

**First of all, I would like to give you some kind of excuse as to why my two month vacation lasted a grand total of six, but I'm at a loss. Everything I worked on turned to crap, and everything I wanted to work on got overrun by school. (Welcome to Senior year— It sucks.) **

**And thus, we have _this_ (whatever it is; I'm not entirely sure anymore) — the product of three days and several months of thought that got me absolutely nowhere. **

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle..._**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution at the moment. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to say thanks to Besieged . Infection (minus the spaces) for betaing this chapter, as I have proven many times before that I am a terrible editor. ^^'**

**Also, I apologize in advance for the strange formatting. The remaining chapters should be easier to follow (hopefully). **

**Hope you enjoy! **

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><p><strong>August 3, 2011<strong>

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><p>"<em>Today, we're here with Mr. Ansem Wise, the creator of the new life-saving drug that we've been hearing rumors about for decades." The reporter smiled that pretty white smile of hers, pushing her legs together beneath her pencil skirt as the camera zoomed outward, illuminating the lavishly designed stage and full audience. The man beside her smiled right back, his white-blond hair slicked back smartly, emphasizing his straight posture and expensive charcoal grey suit. "Now, Mr. Wise, tell us more about this drug. Are the rumors true? Can it really bring back the dead? Save the terminally ill? Can this really be the magnificent cure-all the human race has been waiting for?" <em>

_The man laughed, a joyous yet short sort of sound that barely escaped his throat. "I'm not sure I'd call it all that, but it's definitely something that both myself and my fellow researchers have been waiting to get on the market for the rest of the world for quite a long time." _

"_So, tell us, what does this drug of yours do exactly?" The reporter leaned forward in her chair in just the slightest way, letting her naturally dirty blonde hair fall in front of her shoulder, shielding the top of her simple white blouse. _

"_At first, the drug itself was designed to help cancer patients. As we all know, cancer is a serious problem in today's society. The chances of survival have been fair in the past, but with this new drug, Candall, we can ensure the survival of patients. Every cancer sufferer has at least a ninety percent chance of survival when they take Candall." Ansem smiled then, a smile that stretched across his lips and pulled at the lines around his eyes. "Of course, that was only at first. When we tested the drug further, we were able to conclude that the drug can be used for a variety of other health problems. Tumors, more specifically. Candall, when taken by tumor patients, can actually shrink tumors without the need of risky surgery."_

"_Oh? So, this really is the cure-all we've all been waiting for, isn't it?" The reporter let out a little laugh. "But there really has to be something that you're not telling us. Candall seems too good to be true."_

"_Well, you see, that's really the best part of Candall." He leaned forward with barely suppressed excitement, crossing one leg over the other professionally, the white cuffs of his grey suit slipping down and revealing his thinned wrists for only the slightest moment. "While there have been no long-term studies as of yet, we have been unable to identify any damaging side-effects in our previous studies. The worst our patients have complained of was slight nausea, and that was only in our beginning trials, before the final product was perfected."_

_After a short lapse, the reporter stood, her pencil skirt hugging her tanned legs as she smiled at the camera. "Well, there you have it! The rumored cure-all really is all it's been promised to be! And that's not all! According to a recent report by the Food and Drug Administration, Candall has been approved for mass production. Every hospital in the nation should have a stockpile of Mr. Wise's new drug by the end of the year!" Her dark brown eyes twinkled against her tanned skin, that pearly white smile still set in place. "This has been Elizabeth Swann reporting from Radiant Garden__—__"_

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><p><strong>August 18, 2011<strong>

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><p>He could hear them whispering. They weren't being particularly loud, but he could still hear them chattering back and forth from not so many feet behind him. He could tell that they were talking about him, and he could only imagine what they were saying. Not that it really mattered. He could hear the same things filtering through his head, like a broken record that just wouldn't shut off. (<em>Was it really an accident? What about those bruises? Didn't his mother know? <em>) He couldn't stand it, trying to shuffle through everything that had happened— make sense of it all. He didn't even know if he could at this point. Everything was just so muddled together, pushing at his temples and sticking in his throat.

Stiffening, his deep blue eyes swiveled to the light pressure on his shoulder, a set of clean nails squeezing him reassuringly. Their owner, a pretty woman by the name of Jane Porter, sat beside him, dressed in her trademark yellow blouse and charming smile. He knew what those turquoise eyes of hers were trying to tell him. They were trying to say that everything was going to be okay and that he had nothing to worry about. That the jury believed everything he had said. That he would be headed home in just a few short hours.

He turned away, nibbling at his lower lip and trying to ignore the way her hand didn't move. In a way, he believed her. Or, at least, he wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that this would soon just be a bad dream, that he could wake up at any time and it would be like nothing had changed. But, he had never been very good at trusting people, and it would be vindictive of him to put his trust in a court-appointed attorney at this point. Besides, he wasn't so sure that he wanted everything to be okay.

None of it really seemed fair.

"All rise for the honorable Judge Black." Rigidly, he stood in session with the rest of the courtroom, his eyes locked on the portly judge before deciding better of it and resting on the hand-me-down dress shoes his attorney had found him at the local thrift store. It wasn't like he owned any of his own, and they looked nice enough, with only a few scuff marks here and there and an uncomfortable push at his toes.

The judge cleared his throat in that nauseating way of his, taking his seat with enough force to cause his chair to strain. Beadily, he peered down at the child that had been dragged into his courtroom daily for the past week. Weak looking little thing— his fate didn't really matter to him. "I've been told that the jury has come to a verdict," he ground out, turning to the row of jurors.

"We have, your honor." An old man dressed in brown stood, bowing his white head in just the slightest way, before turning towards the rest of the courtroom, a slip of paper held carefully in his wood-carver hands.

The judge nodded in acknowledgement, his black eyes piercing, worried more about the wall clock's relentless ticking than the jury's decision. "Carry on."

"We find the defendant, Zexion Snow, not guilty of murder in the first degree."

Zexion felt himself literally sink into his chair, his head falling forward and laying in his shaking hands. He could hear the way the tension split in the air, with the courtroom reacting to the decision, his mother somewhere behind him, probably just as relieved and sickened as he was.

_Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. _

He didn't know how he felt about that.

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><p>"<em>There have been recent reports that the drug Candall, having only been released to the first of the nation's hospitals three weeks ago, has been causing unexplainable side effects in some of the early trial patients. We're here in Radiant Square with the drug creator himself, Mr. Wise, to help clear up some of this recent confusion." The reporter held out her microphone, the light wind pushing at her hair and showing off her rosy cheeks. <em>

"_Thank you, Ms. Swann." Ansem smiled, a purple sort of scarf tucked around his neck to fight off the cold. "I must say that it's a pleasure to be able to speak to the public directly in such a way. Now, let me be the first to tell you that these reports are nothing to panic over. The drug has been approved by the Food and Drug Administration, and I assure you that it is safe for all patients. The side effects that have occurred during the past three weeks have been unexpected, but, as mentioned before, Candall hasn't been tested in a long-term setting." _

_Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and leaned in attentively. "But what does this mean for the public? What should they be looking out for? Is it safe for younger patients, or the elderly? Does Candall need to undergo further testing?" _

"_Oh, no, most certainly not." He smiled, the age lines around his lips pulling with amusement. "I can assure you that Candall is still going to become routine medication for patients, no matter their age. The side effects that have recently appeared in patients are mild and, considering their severity, are not dangerous to patients or life-threatening."_

"_I see. Then, can you perhaps explain some of the reasons for these side effects so late after the trials? Is there a particular reason the side effects haven't presented themselves until now, or is it all simply a coincidence?"_

"_While the exact reason for the side effects cannot be confirmed until they have been tested in one of our laboratories, it can easily be explained by the make-up of the drug. Candall is actually a very complex pharmaceutical, made up of several lesser components created by both natural and synthetic means. Several of these components are used for aggressively attacking cancer cells and tumors. The remaining components of the drug combat the more aggressive components, thus making the drug effective but nonfatal." He cleared his throat, holding out his hands at opposite sides as if to show the world the two sides to his medical masterpiece. "However, it seems that in some cases, the more aggressive components have been overwhelming the combative components, leaving the patient to feel a slight fever or a momentary fuzziness of vision." _

_Ms. Swann smiled at the assurance, pulling her microphone closer to her chest. "Do you feel any hesitation in allowing this drug on the market, knowing there are side effects that haven't yet been tested or fully accounted for?"_

_The drug's creator shook his head, maintaining that perfectly practiced smile. "No. I feel no hesitation whatsoever in giving the public the chance to use this life-altering drug. Candall is perfectly safe."_

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><p>"I know I'm not a girl or anything, but isn't this a bit extreme?" The lithe blonde in question stuck her tongue out, flopping back against her bed and tucking her arms behind her head.<p>

"Beauty is extreme." The redhead standing over the blonde stated simply, smearing a healthy amount of cream bleach between her fingers. "Besides, I'm not about to ruin your precious little Nam-Nam." She cooed.

The blonde's carefully plucked eyebrows scrunched. "Nam-Nam? Seriously, Kairi? I sound like a fruit snack." Kairi rolled her eyes, carefully spreading the white substance across the girl's unprotected front.

The lone male in the room sighed, pushing his calloused fingers through his uneven dirty blond hair. He was used to this. Unfortunately. "Yeah, okay, beauty is extreme. Beauty is pain. All that weird creepiness that takes up your free time. What I don't understand, Naminé, is why you're bleaching your already blonde hair. It doesn't make any sense to me."

"Demyx, Demyx, Demyx," Naminé chided, swiveling her oceanic blue eyes towards her older brother. He was leaning against the doorframe separating her room from the rest of the house. "We're going to Destiny Islands. _Everyone_ over there is blonde. If I want anyone to notice me, then I'm going to have to look my best."

Demyx stared at her incredulously, sea foam colored eyes widening before he took a step forward and slumped against one of his little sister's seventy style bean bags. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just tell me that."

Naminé rolled her eyes, enticing a laugh from Kairi. "You're just going to have to realize that your little Nam-Nam is growing up. You can't protect her forever." The redhead mumbled, scrapping at the thick cream with her short green plastic spatula.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah— I get it. Naminé is old enough for a relationship. She doesn't need me checking everyone out for her," the older agreed airily, yawning and spreading his arms out above his head.

"Exactly. Naminé is a big girl now," Kairi kept on. "Bleaching is just part of the package."

"Uh…Can you two stop talking about me like I'm not here?" The blonde asked, leaning up on her elbows. Her friend pushed her back down with a shush. "Anyway, are you sure about this, Demyx? I mean, I know you said it was okay and that everything was fine, but if you really want me to stay, then I will. You know that, right?" She lifted herself back up again, concerned oceanic eyes boring into him.

And Demyx couldn't help but wonder when Naminé ended up growing up on him.

He smiled, genuine and easy, easing away his little sister's worries in the same way that he used to chase away the monsters from under her bed. "I'll be fine. You and Kairi go have fun with your class at the Islands. I'll invite Axel over for the week. We'll rent some movies, eat some popcorn, talk like chicks, and try to kill ourselves on energy drinks. The usual." He shrugged, watching her lazily as she sunk back against her plush bedding.

"You're sure you're sure?" She asked again, staring up at her ceiling, Kairi busy with her stomach, worries still bubbling against her chest.

"Yeah, Nam. I'm sure I'm sure." He let his head fall back, watching that same ceiling. "Promise."

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><p>Thin fingers tightened against the steering wheel, a startling white compared to the tattered black leather. Zexion sat in the passenger seat, his knees pulled to his chin, those hand-me-down dress shoes resting against the cigarette burns littering the seat cushion. He wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure he wanted to say anything. It all seemed like a nightmare. The incident, the hospital, the arrest, the trial— all of it. It seemed like something that would happen to one of the characters in the books he would read. The story would be tragic and ill-fated. Then, suddenly, everything would get better. It would be like it never happened.<p>

He had a feeling that things were just going to keep getting worse.

Tightening the hold he had on his legs, he chanced a look at his mother through his hair. Zexion honestly couldn't tell if she looked relieved by the verdict or not. Not that he blamed her in any way— he wasn't sure how he felt about it either. Still, though, it would be nice for her to at least say something. Since he was released, the only one who had said anything to him was Jane Porter, that pretty smile of hers wishing him luck as she hugged him good-bye. His mother had done her job, he supposed, picking him up and now dutifully driving him home. She had even testified in his defense, and that had to count for something.

But he wasn't asking for much.

He didn't ever ask for much. He never asked for birthday presents or Christmas presents. He never asked for a parent to attend his school's Open House. He never asked for snacks or reassuring words or— anything. Would it really be that selfish of him to ask for a hug? Maybe a smile to let him know that he wasn't all alone in this?

Not that he blamed her for that either. Zexion didn't really think he deserved something like that after everything.

Abruptly, the car stopped, screeching to a halt. Deep blue eyes checked the windows as he uncurled. They were at a stop sign— three miles from home, yet so very far away. The street was deserted, their car the lone vehicle on the road. They didn't move forward, and Zexion didn't say anything. He just listened and waited.

"I love you." He tightened his hands into fists, indifferent to the bite of his nails against his skin. His mother took a shaky breath, the wash of tears apparent as she continued. "I love you, Zexion, but—" She swallowed thickly, and he could hear the slap of hair against her cheeks as she shook her head sharply. "— but I loved him too. And I can't forgive you for this. I just _can't_."

He nodded even though he knew she wasn't looking at him, biting his bottom lip and pulling his knees back to his chin. "I know, mom. I know."

The car pushed forward. And life moved on.

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><p><strong>September 1, 2011<strong>

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><p>"— <em>new report in about the strange attack that took place earlier this morning in the Pride Lands. The attack took place at a local convenience store around eight a.m. when an unarmed female collapsed in one of the store's aisles. A bystander rushed to her aid, and was subsequently attacked. The bystander, as well as three others, were killed during the attack. The woman was killed later by police when she refused to surrender and was shot multiple times. She was identified by family members as Daisy Duck, a local school teacher and a recent drug trial participant. <em>

"_While it has not yet been confirmed, the local police department is looking in to the possibility of this attack being linked to the recent attacks by other trial patients across the globe. The attacks have all been remarkably similar, with all suspects attacking bystanders before being killed by police. So far, there is nothing connecting the drug with the attacks besides the patients themselves, and the Food and Drug Administration still maintains that this drug is safe for consumption by the public. However, the representatives of the drug company have refused to comment on these recent developments._

"_We'll bring you more on this developing story after a quick__—__"_

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><p>Demyx followed his sister and her overly excited friend through the airport faithfully, Naminé's light pink bag slung over his shoulder and digging into his skin. Kairi and Naminé were leaving today, heading off to enjoy Destiny Islands for a week along with the rest of their class. He was happy for them as much as he hated to think about it. Really, he was. Demyx loved Naminé— she was his sister; how could he not? — and he knew that she needed a break. They never really had the chance to go on vacation. Sure, they'd go into Radiant Garden sometimes, but the city really wasn't that far away from Atlantica and it was more of a necessity anyway. That's where their parents worked, so it was only natural for them to go and see them every couple of months. At least that way they sort of resembled a family.<p>

But, that aside, he didn't really _want _her to leave. He was fine with it, because he knew that she really wanted to go and he wasn't selfish enough to ever ask her to stay, but he wasn't looking forward to a week alone. Axel wouldn't have a problem coming over and staying with him for the whole week. He knew that. He understood that. Still, though, it wasn't quite the same as having Naminé around. Or maybe he was just obsessively overprotective.

Either way, he really wasn't stomaching this well.

"Demyx?" He stopped, blinking his sea foam eyes a couple of times to bring himself back to the present. Naminé smiled at him, her light blonde hair held back in a high ponytail and bouncing as she tilted her head to the side. "You look nervous. Are you sure you don't want me to stay here with you?"

He laughed a bit, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. "Positive. Do I really look that bad?" She rolled her eyes at him, holding her hand out for her bag. Slowly, he lowered it down to her, rocking back and forth on his heels for a moment before clearing his throat. "I... It's nothing. Really, Naminé, I'll be fine. Enjoy your trip. Don't do anything that requires me to kill anyone. I'll be right here waiting when you get back, okay?"

Oceanic eyes narrowed a bit, watching him for a lie. Eventually, she sighed, looking towards her congregating class and biting at her lower lip. "Yeah, okay. You'll pick me up from the airport?"

"I'll be waiting at the gate." He pushed his thumbs into the pockets of his old jeans, tapping his fingertips against the worn denim.

"And I'll call you as soon as I get there. Promise." She stood up on her tip-toes, balancing precariously on her perfectly white heels, throwing her arms around her brother's neck. "I love you."

Demyx shook his head a bit before pulling her against his chest and then letting her go just as quickly. "Love you too, Nam. Have fun with Kairi."

"I will. Just—" She quirked her nose to the side, shaking her head, laughing a little at herself. "Take care of yourself, and I'll see you in a week."

And with that, she backed away, smiling and waving as she walked. He watched her meet with the rest of her classmates. Everything seemed fine. It was just a perfectly normal class trip. There was nothing alarming about it.

So why did he feel like he shouldn't let her leave?

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><p><strong>September 5, 2011<strong>

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><p>"— <em>series of outbreaks have been popping up over the past several weeks. Police are continuing to investigate the attacks in relation to the release of a recent drug, but have been unable to find any definite leads. Right now, the federal government is still asking the public not to panic. They encourage caution when leaving your home, but ask that everyday citizens not change their daily routines. We have been assu<em>_—__"_

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><p><strong>September 7, 2011<strong>

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><p>"—<em>should take heed to stay in doors for the time being. All public transportation has temporarily been stalled. Airports and train stations should be back on line within the next several days. Please do not panic and<em>_—__"_

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><p>"—<em>link has been recognized. Ansem Wise and his affiliates have been out of reach since their last interview, where they maintained that their product is safe, despite the behavior of the test patients. It has been rumored that they have retreated underground to a remote location. Government officials and local police have continued to<em>_—__"_

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><p>"—<em>power outages have begun to occur in suburban areas. During these blackout periods, first responders ask that all citizens carry flashlights and stay in the most secure room in their homes. They also ask that people take caution and remain within the company of someone else at all times. This is for both you safety and thei<em>_—__"_

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><p><strong>September 16, 2011<strong>

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><p>"—<em>Candall has been confirmed as the cause of these deadly outbreaks. All patients should stop treatment immediately and retreat to their local hospitals. It has been estimated that over a million people have already taken the drug. Destiny Islands was the only area left untouched by the drug, as the Islands do not have their own hospital. Government officials have<em>_—__"_

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><p>"—<em>not go outside. We repeat: do not go outside. Stay indoors as long as you are able. First responders and officials are currently trying to contain the outbreak, but encourage all citizens to stay indoors. Supply yourself with enough food to last for at least two weeks, and stay close to someone else at all times. Officials are still maintaining that there is no reason to panic<em>_—"_

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><p>"—<em>regions that have seen the worst of the outbreaks. Radiant Garden, Pride Lands, and Atlantica are some of the areas that have been hit the worst by these mysterious outbreaks. All citizens in these regions have been told to stay inside and keep all doors and windows locked. It is—"<em>

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><p>"—<em>signals are still out in most areas. These problems should be—"<em>

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><p><strong>September 25, 2011<strong>

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><p>Sea foam orbs opened narrowly, taking in the early morning light coming in through the cracks in the boards covering the windows. He sighed, sitting up heavily, one skinny arm slung over his stomach— complete deadweight since its owner was still asleep, sprawled out across his side of the twin sized bed. Demyx didn't really mind, simply leaving it there as he rubbed at the crust that had gathered along his eyes. Axel had been his best friend since he started preschool, so sleeping with him was more or less routine, even if he did take up most of the bed and snore like a gorilla.<p>

Warily, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand, letting his head fall back when he realized it wasn't even six yet. He hadn't been getting a lot of sleep lately. Right after Naminé left, Axel had come to stay with him for the week, since his brother was gone on vacation with one of his co-workers and he would have been by himself anyway. Now, he was staying out of necessity. It wasn't safe for him to go home. Naminé had only been gone for a few days before the power outages had started. After that, it was the airports and train stations. No one could get in; no one could get out. Finally, it was the phone service. It was a blessing to get a signal. Even more of one to have one that lasted.

He hadn't been able to talk to Naminé since the day after she left. It was driving him insane not knowing if she was okay or not. He wasn't sleeping. He was hardly eating. And he was antsy. Demyx felt like he was in slow motion, not moving or going forward. It was sickening. It was—

There was a crash downstairs. And he could feel his heart stop.

It wasn't a loud sort of sound, just the crashing of plastic cups falling out of the drain. It was probably nothing. Nothing to worry about. Gravity was probably the only culprit. He was just jumpy. It wasn't a problem. Really.

Nodding briefly to himself, he slipped out of bed, sliding out from beneath Axel's arm, sock clad feet padding against the hardwood floors as he pushed through his bedroom door and into the hallway. He didn't see anything other than the ethereal glow of the early morning dawn reflecting off the hall's white walls. All the pictures were still in place; Axel's duffle bag was still strewn across the top of the staircase where the redhead had left it. Nothing was wrong.

Chuckling lowly to himself, he slipped down the stairs, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all. They hadn't left the house since the early reports on the outbreaks. The reporters were probably exaggerating it all anyway. Wasn't that normally how television worked? Propaganda and fear? It was probably just a bunch of psychopaths breaking into homes and—

He stopped, tilting his head to the side, his breath catching in his throat as he stood at his kitchen's threshold. The cups had fallen over just as he'd predicted, their plastic yellow tops littering the ground. The person standing over his countertops, their back tense and clothes tattered, was not as he predicted. Demyx couldn't see their face, but he could hear their rapid breathing, the way their chest moved up and down just a little too fast. And he could smell them. It was like they were dead and already decaying— the kind of smell one would associate with road kill. It was… horrifying.

And he couldn't move.

Suddenly, like a puppet in a horror movie, the person turned, smiling crookedly with a blood-soaked mouth and yellowed eyes, pupils blown like an addict. They swayed from one foot to the other, those yellowed eyes darting across the room before landing on him and narrowing. Finally, the person lunged forward, snarling. And Demyx really didn't have to think about it.

He ran.

He ran with his socks slipping against the hardwood, voice caught in his throat while he and _whatever _this was raced around the downstairs of his house, knocking old china and books to the ground. The person— creature, _monster_— caught him in the living room, tackling him to the ground, and slicing at him with oversized nails. For the first time, he screamed, grabbing at its jaw with calloused fingers and trying to kick it off of him.

He could feel it constricting his airways, its face getting closer and closer to his neck, bloody teeth coming towards him, the putrid smell it was emitting earlier pushing at his chest and causing bile to rise against the back of his throat. He couldn't get it off of him. He couldn't get it off. _He couldn't get it __**off**__._

And then it was off.

Axel bludgeoning its skull with a baseball bat, red blood and brain matter staining the white walls.

Time stood still, and he didn't stop. He just kept going and going until Demyx could literally see that the thing was dead, the muscles in Axel's arms literally jumping from the exertion. Slowly, he backed away, slumping to the ground beside the dirty blond, the bat held between his shaking fingers.

He swallowed thickly, red hair soaked with sweat and sticking to his forehead in matted clumps. "It's not safe here," he whispered like it was a secret, emerald eyes rushing from one area of the room to the other, looking and waiting for any sign of a threat.

For a moment Demyx looked away, taking in the sight of the broken body of whatever it was; the sight of his home and all the memories that came with it. He didn't want to think about leaving, but he knew Axel was right. The body on the ground was the proof— his home wasn't safe anymore.

"When do we leave?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yeah...I don't _even_. **

**Honestly, I'm not sure where this story came from or where it's going. It just kind of happened, and I'm not as happy with it as I could be. I am happy to be writing again, though, and I hope I can get back into the swing of things quickly enough. It's a thought anyway. **

**As for this chapter, it was originally planned as a prologue, which is why it doesn't really flow together very well, but I wanted it to set the stage a bit more than that. Thus, this weird first chapter/prologue/thing. It was supposed to give a bit of background information, as well as give off a feel for the characters, though...I'm not entirely sure it worked. ^^'**

**Production: I'll be perfectly honest and say that I have no idea when the next chapter of this story will be posted. It's planned out already, so I might write it before break is over, but I make no promises. And, following the first of the year, I will be back to working on scholarship applications, so my writing will be sporadic at best. Sorry for any inconvenience.**

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). ^_^**

**And, again, Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays to those who don't celebrate the holiday!**


	2. Safe Haven

**So, apparently, reasonable means nearly two months to the day. At least I didn't make any promises...? **

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle..._**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution at the moment. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. I'm kind of just hoping I don't disappoint you at this point. **

**I would also like to thank Besieged . Infection (minus the spaces) for betaing this chapter. However, still let me know if you find any problems, because there was a bit of a transfer issue between programs and I'm not sure if I caught all the spacing issues on the copy/paste email. **

**Also, the formatting is still a little weird, but it's growing on me. Expect it; I'm a creature of habit. **

**Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

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><p><strong>September 28, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Pale, skinny fingers pulled along the cupboards, sliding over empty cereal boxes and soup cans that had expired so long ago that their lids were corroded. The pantry had already been emptied, and what was left in the fridge had spoiled, the power having been cut off over a week ago. With a shaking sort of sigh and a hacking sort of cough, he slid off the counter, sinking to the ground and pulling his knees to his chest, fighting off the late night cold that was beginning to sneak in. Hollow Bastion was not a particularly warm city at the best of times and fall was already at its breaking point. Winter was coming early.<p>

And he was already out of food.

There hadn't been much to begin with. His family had never had enough money for snacks or treats. They had always only bought the essentials, and barely that at times. He worked after school at the bookstore two streets over; his mother worked as many hours as she could waitressing at the local diner. And sometimes, sometimes the bills came first. He didn't really mind it. He could go a day or two without eating anything easily. But now, there really was nothing left. His stomach had already stopped growling at the thought of food. Now, it just hurt, the flat skin going concave around his navel, his ribs protruding beneath his clothes.

Rubbing at his deep blue eyes with bony knuckles, Zexion pulled himself up, balancing his weight against the rickety counter, knobby elbows and knees shaking dangerously. He stopped once he was upright, blinking rapidly to fight away the fussiness at the edge of his vision, the nausea threatening his throat. His eyes rested on the living room, taking in the boarded over windows and dingy carpet coated in cigarette burns.

Part of him didn't even know why he had stayed. The house held nothing for him— nothing but emptiness. He'd lived in this house for his entire life. It had seen his first steps, his first report card. It had heard him the first time he'd cried, the first time he'd screamed. This house had watched him grow up. Everything was right here, yet he didn't feel anything towards it. It was just a place. A place on a map in the middle of nowhere. He was indifferent to it. Every memory he had in this house had been tainted— there was too much sorrow mixed in with everything else. The last eight months had seeped in and poisoned everything. First, there was the incident, followed by the trial. And now there was this— what the extremists were calling the end of humanity.

Honestly, he should have left. He should have left before it had gotten so bad, when he still had enough food to fill up a bag and disappear. That would have been the smart, logical thing to do. It would have been the _right _thingto do.

But he had been fooling himself, fooling himself into thinking that everything would go back to the way it was before. That he and his mother could be a family again. That she would come back.

She had left one day to get supplies. It had been normal. The news stations were telling everyone to prepare for a few weeks at home, so it hadn't seemed out of the ordinary for her to leave early that morning, barely even saying good-bye. She'd had a backpack with her—one of his old school bags, so full of tatters and holes that it was nearly useless—but he had assumed that it had been for provisions. It had certainly looked empty when she had left.

Or maybe it hadn't.

He hadn't really looked because he hadn't really wanted to know. It was easier that way. It was easier to barely cast a glance at the bag and focus on the way his mother wouldn't look him in the eye. And really, he didn't know. He didn't know if she had just left. Maybe she hadn't been able to come back. There were stories. There were stories on the news of people leaving home and then never coming back—not being able to _make _it back. It wouldn't be unheard of, especially since Hollow Bastion was located right outside the epicenter.

But it didn't matter. None of it really mattered. No matter what had happened, he was still alone. Besides, he would rather think of her just leaving rather than dying somewhere out there. Eaten by those _things_. It didn't make things any easier, but at least he could keep telling himself that she was still alive. She was still his mother, no matter what choice she may have made.

Finally, he blinked, shaking his head, watching as the burns in the carpet danced behind his eyes. This place wasn't safe. He wouldn't be able to defend himself if anything happened, and he really couldn't live much longer without some form of food. His mind made up, he made his way to his bedroom, fighting the stiffness in his muscles as he poured his schoolbooks onto the floor and packed his backpack with supplies. It was kind of funny, really, all the things he wouldn't be able to bring with him. He had never thought of himself as having many possessions, just as he had never seen himself as someone who got caught up in material things. But looking at everything he owned, stretched across his bedroom in that organized sort of chaos that most teenagers seemed to understand, he found himself hesitating.

There were things he never wanted to get rid of—pieces of himself that he didn't want to let go. Books that he had stumbled across at the park, birthday cards from the elderly woman who lived across the road, an old set of playing cards…They weren't the kind of things that most people would consider, but they were the kind of things that he wanted to be able to look back on someday. It was stupid and sentimental, but it was his life. Every little bit of it all crammed into one tiny little room.

He scoffed at himself, biting at his lower lip and turning his dark blue eyes away. Desperately, he tugged at the bag's zipper, slinging the thing over his shoulders and barely managing to force his shoes on his feet before he was headed towards the front door. Stupid. He couldn't take it with him. He couldn't take any of it with him. It would just slow him down. It was better if he didn't think about it.

Suddenly, he stopped, hand poised above the doorknob. Right inside the door, positioned so carefully to the left, there stood a set of drawers. The first two held nothing but legal documents. They were filled to the brim with old bills and court papers. He knew this for a fact. But the third drawer—He didn't know if it was still there, but he could vaguely remember his mother looking at it sometimes, holding it to her chest and running her fingers along the pages when she thought he wasn't looking. With shaking fingers, Zexion slid the drawer open.

And it was still there.

It was a silly little thing really—just an old picture album that he had made in the second grade. The pages were held together with construction paper and twist ties, and the titles were done in the most atrocious colors, stickers decorating the thing. But the pictures. The pictures were of them. They were of all three of them, back when they were still a family, back when the money didn't really matter.

He'd given it to his mother for her birthday, and she had been so happy that day. She had smiled so often back then—she used to always smile—but that day was special. He and his father had made her a cake. It hadn't been very good, the icing falling off and the edges blackened in places, but she had eaten it anyway. They'd all laughed and smiled. He didn't remember very many specifics about that particular day, but he wanted to hold on to what he did remember.

It was the least he could do.

Tucking the album away, securing it safely against the bottom of the bag, he finally slid out the door. And the second his shoes hit the rotting porch and the door slid shut behind him, he knew he wouldn't be coming back.

This wasn't home anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>September 30, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Worn black and white high-tops balanced precariously along the railroad tracks, their owner moving forward with his head down, calloused fingertips tapping against his old jeans. He could hear Axel up ahead of him, his heavy footsteps clanking against the metal, his bag rocking back and forth against his hipbones. If Demyx was being honest with himself, he would say that his feet hurt. He would say that he had blisters in places that blisters were never meant to be, and he would say that he felt like he would never be clean again. He would say that he was hungry and cold and tired.<p>

But he wasn't going to be honest. He was going to be hopefully oblivious and pretend that they might actually survive this.

Letting out a long sigh, Demyx shook those kinds of thoughts from his head and looked forward, taking in the surrounding woods and blackening sky. They had been walking for days, only stopping for supplies and rest when absolutely necessary. Axel had pulled them towards the wooded areas surrounding the city during day one, saying that they would be less populated and easier to maneuver. Luckily, he had been right. They hadn't seen any more of the infected—zombies, creatures, _monsters? _— leaving Atlantica, which he was grateful for. He didn't think he would have been able to bare it.

They were terrible. Horrid. _Heartless_. Atlantica had always been a beautiful city. The streets were always clean. The buildings had that sort of old charm to them, the kind that kept anyone from guessing how much they were loved. The beaches had beautiful white sand, and the water was always crystal clear. Even the people of Atlantica were unnaturally pleasant. But after the outbreaks had taken over, Atlantica was in shambles. The infected had coated the city in blood that ran in the water and lapped at the buildings. They had destroyed the pleasantness of the city—_his _city—and replaced it with mass hysteria. What the infected hadn't managed to destroy, the survivors had. The once cozy little shops that resided at the street corners were reduced to broken windows and overturned shelves. Everything of any value was taken. What was left was broken.

Demyx shook his head at the mere thought of it all. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look at his city the same way again, even if the world miraculously righted itself. All he'd be able to see would be the wreckage, what people were reduced to when they no longer had a choice or any kind of control. He could never go home, not back to that city, not back to that house where every sense of security had been ripped away. Funny how life turned out sometimes—wasn't he joking with Naminé not so long ago? Wasn't he winning the state swimming competition? Wasn't he playing his sitar at that little café right around the corner?

Funny. Or tragic. He wasn't really sure anymore.

"Dem?" He stopped, one foot instantly leaving the metal tracks to lay flat against the gravel beneath. Axel stood up ahead, completely still and turned towards him, his red hair billowing around his lean face. His face was dirty, coated in a sickening mixture of dust from the tracks and blood from the infected. Leaving the city had been a battle for the both of them, but Axel was always up ahead. He was always the one fighting for them. And Demyx—He honestly didn't know if he had it in him to fight like Axel did.

"Yeah," he answered hesitantly, eyes subconsciously pivoting to see if he had missed something. He hadn't. The world around them was still just as barren as it had been before.

Axel smiled a little as if to reassure him, straight white teeth glistening in the late afternoon sun. He shrugged his shoulders in just the slightest way, hoisting his bag up a little higher and taking a step back towards him. "We're on the outskirts of Twilight Town."

One dirty blond eyebrow lifted, a set of sea foam eyes widening. "Really? How can you tell?"

The redhead rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders and sliding his hands into his dirtied pockets. "Just good like that. Me an' Reno used to come this way on our way into Radiant Garden sometimes," he smirked a bit at this, quirking his mouth to the side while scrunching up his nose. "Besides, there's a shop through the trees with a sign out front that says 'Twilight Town: half a mile.'"

Demyx just stared at him, laughing a few seconds later with just the slightest shake of his head. This wasn't really the Axel that he was used to, but this wasn't the same Axel that he had watched murder those creatures outside Atlantica either. He wasn't even the same Axel that had helped him pack up his things and say goodbye to his home. But that was okay. This Axel was still Axel, just a different version, a mixture of them all. And he could live with that, because it meant that his Axel might be coming back someday.

"I didn't get a really good look before I came back this way, but the place looks abandoned. I mean, who knows with all those—whatever-they-are walking around, but I don't know. It might be a good place to stop for a little while. The windows looked like they were still okay too, so it might still have some supplies and," he slid his bag of his shoulder and shook it, pausing to let the cans in the bottom rattle together, "we are in some serious need of more food."

"And water," Demyx added, scrubbing at his gritty face with the heel of his palm. "Are we sure it's safe though? I mean, shouldn't we take a closer look just to see if there are any… if there's anything already there?" Mentally, he cringed at his words, watching as Axel's acidic eyes studied him, that boney frame of his turning away and looking farther along the tracks.

"The way I see it, Dem, is that we have two options: we can check it out and maybe find somewhere we can rest up, or we can keep going and hope we find somewhere else." He turned back, running a hand through his red hair almost subconsciously. "Honestly, though, I don't think there is anywhere else for a while and we're losin' daylight. And I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be out here for another night while we're this close to Twilight Town. Too many people to get infected there; you know that."

The blond swallowed heavily, letting his eyes focus on his dirtied shoes, his heels digging against the gravel as he shifted his weight. "What if there are other people there? People like us? We can't just kick them out."

Axel bit the inside of his cheek, sucking on the light stream of blood that flooded the inside of his mouth and tingled as it hit his tongue. He shrugged again, like he really didn't have to think about it, like the answer was already obvious. "We share. And if they don't want to share, we grab what they'll let us take and we keep moving."

"And what if there are more of _them _in there? What do we do then?"

He smiled crookedly, that red hair of his glowing against the sunlight. "You still have your cousin's gun, don't you?"

Demyx nodded, sighing under his breath as he slipped it from his back belt loop, the metal warm against his calloused hands. He had found it hiding in the top of his closet before they had left, and Axel had insisted that he bring it along. He knew why he needed it—he wasn't nearly as stupid as people seemed to think he was—but he still didn't want to have it. He didn't want to hurt anyone, even if they weren't really human anymore. They hadn't asked to become one of the infected, and it just seemed wrong, killing a creature that used to be someone, that used to have a family and friends and a _life_. But he supposed that he didn't really have a choice. If it came down to it, he would kill them without hesitation. He still had to find a way to get to Naminé, no matter what it might cost him.

"Awesome. Just be ready for anything."

If Demyx was being honest with himself, he would admit that he wasn't.

* * *

><p><strong>November 3, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Huffing brokenly, he fell against an old willow tree, the darkened branches barely holding him up as his chest rose and fell unevenly, his tinted hair falling heavily against his face, matted down with a sickening mixture of sweat and grit. He knew that he should keep running. He <em>needed <em>tokeep running. It wasn't safe here; it wasn't safe anywhere anymore. And he was out in the open, unprotected and weak. If they tried to attack him now, he wouldn't be able to get away.

He just didn't have it in him anymore.

Every part of him hurt. He had been running for such a long time, and it felt like he hadn't properly slept in days. And he hadn't. He honestly didn't remember ever feeling safe enough to sleep. There was nowhere for him to hide. Every time he tried, there was another one of those things waiting. Even when he couldn't see them, he could still _hear _them.

And then there was the screaming.

He never saw anything. He never saw them tearing at whomever they had managed to catch, but he could hear their prey screaming. It always started out so loud and desperate—and then it would just die out, like the pain had never been felt, like there had never been a life there to begin with. He couldn't handle it. Every time, the sound would travel down his spine and make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, that dreadful feeling of death pulling at his stomach and threatening to gag him. And in the next second, he would be running, trying to get away from that horrible, ghastly sound.

But he couldn't do it anymore.

He couldn't run anymore. He didn't have the energy to keep moving like he had been; he just didn't have the strength to keep it up. There was just nothing left for him to give.

He had been running from them since leaving Hollow Bastion. In the beginning, there had only been one of them behind him, but then there was another, followed by another and another and another—they just kept coming. With every turn he took, there was another one waiting for him. He had run down streets and through abandoned buildings just trying to get away, but nothing had worked. When one gave up, there was always another one to take its place.

And maybe he was being punished for everything he had done wrong. Maybe running away instead of fighting back was cowardly and useless. Maybe it was all for not. But he had to try. He had to at least try to get away.

He didn't want to die. He didn't want to be eaten alive, those things crowding around him and pulling at his legs, all teeth and claws ready to devour whatever they could reach. He did something terrible, something that he could never be fully forgiven for, but he didn't think he deserved to die like that.

No one ever deserved to die.

Zexion jumped suddenly, deeply set eyes widening and searching the area in a panic, shaking hands barely keeping him upright against the tree. He could feel the bark grating against his fingers, pulling at the already tender skin and breaking through in places, but he didn't care. He had heard a noise, and he had to find it. If it was another one of the infected… he would just have to get away. Somehow, someway, he would have to get away.

After a moment of silence, he relaxed, his knees buckling under him, the stress of the past few days finally seeping into his bones and pulling him towards unconsciousness. But he couldn't sleep yet. He wasn't safe here. There was no cover; he wouldn't be able to see them coming.

He blinked a few times as if to will away his exhaustion, his head lolled back against the tree's bark, blue eyes focused on the rustling branches up above him. He wouldn't be able to climb it.

He knew that. He wasn't very athletic on a good day. All he had ever been good at was running, and the thicker branches were too far from his reach anyway. He wouldn't be able to make it even if he tried all night. Exhaling through his nose, he allowed himself to slump back a little farther, back hunched, backpack still slung over his shoulders. There had to be something he could do. Otherwise, he wouldn't have to worry about being eaten. He would simply die from exhaustion.

Or starvation. Whichever happened to come first.

With that thought in mind, he forced himself to his feet, barely catching himself against the tree as he stumbled, palms absorbing the impact. He just had to keep moving. That's all he had to do. If he kept moving, he could keep lying to himself, telling himself that there was a chance that he could survive all of this. That he could see his mother again.

It was stupid and idealistic, but that thought kept him moving for another half hour, legs heavy and knees threatening to drop him again. And just as he was about to give up on finding shelter, he saw it.

The tiny little shop nestled against the trees.

The place had obviously seen better days, the paint peeling away and front steps rotting in places, but Zexion nearly collapsed with relief upon seeing it. He didn't hesitate in walking towards the front door, leaning heavily against the guardrail, lungs never taking in quite enough air. He felt the door give way under him when he pushed against it, a little less than a foot of space revealing itself, whatever was on the other side sliding noisily against the treated hardwood.

He didn't care. He just wanted to sleep, to forget about everything for just a little while.

Slowly, Zexion slid inside, pulling the backpack off his back just long enough to squeeze through the sliver of space. The inside was dark, his eyes too heavy with exhaustion to properly adapt to the change in light. He stumbled forward, knocking into a shelf, the sound of metal clanking against the ground ringing in his ears and startling him backwards, his slick-bottomed shoes sliding with the lack of traction, knocking him against a counter of some kind, papers rustling to the ground. He blinked heavily, the faint sound of nylon scrapping against nylon in the background.

Someone else was here.

He felt his breathing pick up, that feeling of panic and death and _please don't let them get me _rushing into his lungs. Slowly, carefully, he grabbed onto the smooth surface behind him, using it as a guide to pull him farther away from the sound that he wasn't even sure he had heard in the first place. He felt along until his fingertips met bare wall, his feet sliding beneath him, kicking at some unknown piece of metal.

He stopped, muscles tensing, eyes widening even though he still couldn't see.

And then there was nothing but deafening silence. His breath was caught in his throat, and all Zexion wanted was to run. To get away. He should have never come here. He should have stayed outside where he could at least run. Here— he was cornered. It wasn't safe.

Holding his breath, he took a step backward, eyes still wide and unseeing. All he had to do was get to the door. Then, he could get away. But where was the door? He wasn't entirely sure which way he had come from and one wrong move could be the end of him. Shaking his head at the thought, he took another step back, pivoting on his heels and taking his chances, running back the way he had come, not bothering with the noise, just letting his body hit whatever happened to be in the way.

And then he felt it. The unnatural blow to his head.

The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was light and fire, green acid and exhaustion pulling him under.

* * *

><p>"Is he dead?" Axel just shrugged at the hesitant question, standing over the disheveled body with his head crooked slightly to the side. Demyx scowled, eyeing the frying pan his friend still held tightly in his hands and taking a step closer. The redhead put a hand against his chest to stop him from coming any nearer. And all he could do was stare at the offending fingers, weary eyes narrowing.<p>

"He could be infected," was all he said, letting his hand drop back down to his side with a muffled thump.

Demyx huffed under his breath, chapped lips thinning. "And if he isn't?"

Axel took a step forward at the question, pushing the tip of his foot under the boy's ribs and flipping him over, his head flopping to the side, uneven hair covering his face. The blond brought his hand to his mouth and took another step closer, leaning down over him and ignoring the way Axel was trying to pull him back.

The boy was barely _breathing_.

From his head down to his toes, his body looked beaten. The old shoes on his feet were discolored, the holes along the rubber showing his bare and bloodied toes. His clothes were no better off, the black jeans on his legs baggy and ill-fitting, the hoodie barely hanging on to his torso. His fingers and palms were bleeding, the area around his forearms bruised and scratched with thin red lines where the faded charcoal sleeves had slid upwards. And his face. Beneath the matted hair was nothing but sharp angles. His cheeks were sunken in, the area around his eyes blackened with something a little more sinister than exhaustion. And there was more blood, dripping down from the broken skin on his forehead where Axel had hit him, a barely recognizable lump already forming.

Honestly, Demyx didn't even understand how he was still alive. He looked like he had already starved, his body nothing but a broken skeleton.

Hesitantly, he extended his hand toward him, brushing some of his hair back out of his face, revealing more of those gaunt looking cheeks. Up close, he could see the thin veins running underneath the boy's snow white skin, the slow but steady rise and fall of his thin chest. "Axel…"

"What are we supposed to do with him?"

Demyx sat up a little straighter, looking back at his best friend over his shoulder. "What are we supposed to _do _with him," he parroted, voice an octave higher than it should have been, eyes a little narrower. "He's a human being, Axel!"

The redhead sighed, leaning back against one of the shop's shelves, lanky frame relaxing, acidic eyes looking away. It wasn't like he was saying that they should kill the guy; it was really just a matter of self-preservation. "He's deadweight, Dem. He might be fine here where there's food and water, but out there? In the condition he's in now? He won't be able to keep up."

"But that doesn't mean we can't give him a chance."

"Demyx…"

"No." Lean arms crossed, Demyx stood, standing tall in between Axel and this boy he didn't even know. He didn't know why he cared so much, but looking at him made him think of Naminé. They were the same in build: little and lithe. If something like this was happening where she was, if she was the one whose fate was in the hands of someone like him, he would want them to do everything they could to give her a chance. He _had _to believe that they would give her a chance. And there was someone out there who needed this boy to be given a chance too. And he could do that. He could give him a chance. "He made it this far on his own, who says he won't be able to keep up? If we just give him a few days…or just help him now— He doesn't have to come with us. He might not even be going the way we are. We don't know."

"There's not enough food to last three people for very long, and who knows how hungry he's going to be when he wakes up. I mean, look at him, Dem." He made a vague sort of hand motion, gesturing towards the raggedy clothes and shallow cheeks. "What if he's sick with something else? We can't take that kind of risk, man. What if something happens? You want to get out of this, don't you?" And, as harsh as his words were, they were spoken with a quiet sort of desperation. He was just as torn up by this as Demyx was, but it wasn't quite the same for him. He wanted— _needed_— both of them to make it through this. And he wouldn't jeopardize that for anything.

"Axel," Demyx swallowed, bending down once again and just barely grazing the other's skin with his calloused fingertips, "we can't just leave him." His voice was desperate, wavering slightly when his index finger came to the tip of the boy's button nose. He had to make Axel understand that this wasn't okay. Bad things were happening all around them. They had seen some things that they never should have had to see. But all of that, all of those bad things, didn't make it okay to hurt another person.

They didn't make it okay to stop being human.

For a while after that, they were quiet, sea-like eyes watching the rise and fall of that thin chest, acidic green pools staring off into the woodwork. Finally, Axel sighed, running his hands through his hair and moving to stand by those bloodied feet. "Dem?" He bent down and grabbed the boy's ankles, inwardly cringing at the feeling of bones beneath his palms.

Demyx cocked his head to the side, watching him wearily. "Yeah?"

"Just... Just help me get him cleaned up."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So...Word vomit. I'm honestly not even sure how this chapter happened. I think I have even less of an idea about this than I did about _Keys and Kissing_. **

**Anyway, I think I've lost a lot from a writing standpoint over the past few months. The improvement I made in conversations between characters in my last story has all but vanished. It's probably gotten even worse than it was originally. I apologize for that, and I'm working on it. Let me know if you have any pointers or just want to share something that you think might help. **

**Also, I don't think I'm getting Axel's personality across in the way I want to. He just comes off as strange... And Zexion and Demyx are a bit wishy-washy at this point. Hopefully, I'll be able to get more of them across with the next chapter when they properly meet. **

**Production: I honestly don't know when you should expect the next chapter of this. I only have parts one and two planned (a carry over from this chapter, because I figured they would be better served somewhere else) and there should be at least five, if not more. However, I will try to have it done within a month. I still make no promises though, as I'm currently filling out a scholarship a week and school has officially become crazy. **

**Extra: I don't have very much planned for the rest of this story, so feel free to send me ideas. I can't promise that everything will be used, but let me know if there are any specific characters you'd like to see, anything you'd like to see happen, etc. **

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). ^_^**


	3. Security

**So, two months again? Two months. Bleh, I feel like I'm getting worse at this. At least, it's longer this time. ^^'**

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle..._**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution at the moment. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. I'm kind of just hoping I don't disappoint you at this point. **

**I would also like to thank Besieged . Infection (minus the spaces) for betaing this chapter. (Seriously. We have email problems; lots of them.) However, still let me know if you find any problems, because there was a bit of a transfer issue between programs and I'm not sure if I caught all the spacing issues on the copy/paste email. **

**And I'm totally keeping the weird formatting. But, please note, dates that are not directly mentioned at the beginning of each chapter will carry over from the last. For example, the last date noted in chapter two is the date for the first part of chapter three. I hope this doesn't cause any confusion. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>It hurt more than it should have. The skin along his cheek.<p>

Hidden in his bedroom, with his knees pulled to his chest and his body scrunched horizontally beneath his blankets, he could almost pretend that it didn't happen. He could almost pretend that he had just had a bad day at school or that he was just a little too sick to sit in the kitchen with his mother as she cooked. He could almost pretend that nothing had changed in the last hour and a half. Except, the hurt was still there. He couldn't see it―he hadn't wanted to―but he could feel the bruise forming against his cheekbone where those knuckles had gotten him. He could feel the way his shoulders bent protectively over his damaged chest.

If it wasn't for the way the pain crept behind his eyes he might have been able to forget about it. Forget about being in the wrong place at the wrong time and saying the wrong thing. Maybe he could. But the hurt was still there. And he couldn't just forget something that was so sharp, so clear, the memory playing over and over in his mind.

It had been normal. Or, at least, mostly normal. He hadn't had practice after school like he normally did―the coach was out sick and no one cared to stay for hours after school was out if they didn't have to―so he'd made it home earlier than he usually did. There was nothing wrong with that. It happened occasionally, and it wasn't like he wasn't welcome in his own home. But something must have been wrong before he'd ever even entered the house. The air outside was tense, and maybe he should have known something was wrong as he made his way across the rickety old porch and opened the door, but he came inside anyway.

And they were just standing there, looking at each other like there was nothing left between them, his mother's wrist held in one of his father's firm hands, eyes just as angry and hurt as he'd ever seen them. His father was across from her, holding onto her and punctuating every breath with a knock against the kitchen table's old wood. Neither of them acknowledged his presence, so he just watched them for a moment, standing in the doorway with his backpack half sliding off his shoulders and his shoes in the process of coming off.

What happened after was a blur. One moment there was nothing but endless silence, and the next there was nothing but yelling back and forth about everything that was going wrong. The cheating and the money and the alcohol. So much alcohol. It never stopped. And he didn't know what he said that was so wrong. He didn't really remember, but it might have been about not picking up that last can of beer or maybe even about some stupid grade at school, but whatever it was, it set him off.

He went from standing in the doorway to being pushed against the living room wall, gasping and trying to shove away with the man screaming against his ears, his hands holding him up above the ground. And his words all ran together with his mother's crying, and before he knew it, it was all over. He was pushing his door closed with shaking hands and trying as hard as he could not to cry as he cocooned himself beneath his blankets.

And he couldn't just forget about it because it happened. His father―his _dad_―had hit him. He'd been drunk before and threatened him. He'd punched holes in the walls, screeched as he'd broken old china, and torn apart old books he'd received as birthday presents, but his father had never actually intentionally come after him. He'd never been the one he was angry with. He'd never had to deal with this kind of hurt before, where he'd trusted someone so much and had them break it all like it never existed in the first place. He couldn't handle it; he didn't know if he'd _ever _be able to handle it.

"Zexion? Sweetie, are you awake?" He shuddered beneath his covers, listening to the knock against his bedroom door and the soft footsteps making their way across his carpet, faltering every now and again to avoid the things strewn across his floor. "Can you talk to me?"

He curled in a little tighter as she sat at the edge of his bed, her weight causing the bed to shift a little to the side in a way that made his hair poke up against his pillow. "I know you're awake, Zexion." She huffed a bit, an amused sort of air coming with it as she ran her fingernails along the ends of his hair and up against his scalp in the same way she used to when he was just a child trying to convince his parents that the monsters in his closet didn't exist but the ones under the bed were entirely real. "You know he didn't mean to hurt you, don't you?"

He tensed at her words, curling a bit more, trying to passively get away. He didn't mean to? How could he have not meant to? It wasn't like he was in the way. It wasn't like he had just bumped him against the wall. He'd _held _there. He'd _hit _him. He couldn't accept that as an accident because it wasn't. It couldn't have been.

"He's never really been able to control his temper, and sometimes he just gets a little carried away," she soothed his hair back, pushing her lithe little fingers under the covers so she could slide her nails along his cheek, unknowingly comforting his bruised skin. "He didn't mean it, Zexion. He never means it. He's just been having such a rough time lately. You know he's felt like a failure since his lost his job at the shipyard, and with the money getting tighter he's just slipping further away. The important thing for the two of us to do is to just stick by him until he can find work again. Once that happens, everything will go back to the way it was before."

"How can you say that," he mumbled, whispering the words into his hands and pulling just a little further away. It wasn't about just her this time. She could ignore her own bruises— pretend that they just didn't happen, that he didn't bruise her delicate shoulders and shallow cheeks— but how could she ignore his? How could she just pretend that everything was still okay when it wasn't just her anymore? How could she?

She faltered for a moment before continuing, scooting a little closer and leaning down over his scrunched form, whispering against the blanketed covering. "Because I love him and I know you love him. He's never let us down before, sweetheart. Just you wait. He'll have a new job in just a few weeks and then everything will get better. We might even be able to afford those new running shoes you wanted. Wouldn't that be nice? Being able to run with new shoes this season?"

Carefully, she pulled the covers back, smiling at him with those pretty eyes of hers. "Now, come on. Why don't we go apologize to your father and cook him a nice little dinner to make him feel better? How does that sound?"

He didn't have the heart to tell her no.

* * *

><p><strong>November 4, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>He wasn't sleeping well.<p>

Demyx was leaning against one of the shelves in the back of the shop, safely hidden away in the little nook Axel had insisted they make, watching the boy sleep. It didn't seem to be going well. Every moment or so, the boy would let out a little groan or scrunch up a little tighter, rolling to the side and letting the sleeping bag he and Axel had draped over him pull a little closer to his skin. It made him wonder what he was dreaming about, but life was hard enough anyway. He didn't know if he could handle someone else's problems along with his own.

But at least he and Axel could make him a bit more comfortable. They had replaced his old clothes with some they had found in his bag, and though they didn't quite fit like they had hoped, they didn't hang off of him in a way that made him look so much like a skeleton. And they had bandaged him up, strips of white wrapping around his fingers and toes, another placed on his forehead to stop the bleeding from the frying pan.

Demyx hadn't really wanted to change his clothes. It didn't feel right stripping him down without his knowledge. He felt like he'd violated him in some way. He knew he was just trying to help him, but it still felt so invasive, like he was trudging all over his privacy. He didn't even know his name. But Axel had said it was for the best.

And maybe that's what made it so much worse. He was prepared to just close his eyes and do the best he could, but Axel said they had to check. They had to make sure he hadn't been bitten. Axel had been so insistent of that, and he understood why. He really did understand, but that didn't change the fact that it made him feel sick to his stomach. At least Axel had let him keep his boxers on. That would have made him feel even worse. The boy looked so young already; he couldn't possibly be any older than Naminé.

The boy groaned again in his sleep, his eyes squeezing together like he was in pain. Demyx wasn't surprised by that, though it was concerning. He had felt his forehead earlier after Axel had left, in the same way he used to for Naminé, and it had been a little warm. Not alarmingly so, but like he had a bit of a fever. Maybe he had a cold? He wasn't a doctor, so he really didn't know. And he didn't want to tell Axel because then he might think he was sick with…whatever that was. He couldn't let that happen. Not so soon. Not when he'd barely agreed to let him stay in the first place.

Besides, it was probably nothing. The boy had been out in the cold and he didn't look like he had eaten in days. He might just be fighting off exhaustion. And then, there were all of those cuts. He might have an infection of some kind. It would make sense. But they didn't have antibiotics and if he couldn't fight it off by himself, he didn't know what they were going to do. The closest hospital was miles away, and it probably wasn't open anyway. What would they do if he started to get really sick? Axel would say to leave him― not because he's coldhearted, but because it would be the only way to survive. And Demyx didn't know if he could do that. He didn't know if he could leave another human being for dead like that because he's not that kind of person and Axel just wou―

He banged the back of his head against the shelf behind him, running his hands through his dirty blond hair, derailing his thoughts. He'd never even gotten this upset over Naminé. What did that say about him?

Again, the boy groaned, rolling onto his stomach this time and propping himself up on his elbows. Demyx shifted a little closer, watching with sea-like eyes as the boy's eyes slid open beneath his hair. For a moment, the two just blinked at one another, two shades of blue trying to test the waters. And then, suddenly, he was pushing himself away, chest heaving up and down, panicking, those deep blue eyes wide and terrified.

"Hey," Demyx tried to smile, leaning back a little farther to give him more space. He didn't smile back. If anything, his breath got a little quicker, his eyes a little wider. "You've been sleeping for a while, you know. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to wake up."

He blinked, stringy hair falling one of his eyes, an almost feral sort of look to him. "Who are you," he croaked out, voice breaking amongst the letters, like it was an effort to pronounce them at all.

Demyx tilted his head a little to the side. "I'm Demyx. Axel and I―"

"I don't know anyone named Demyx."

"Of course, you don't. That's why I'm introducing myself?" It came out more of a question than a statement, blond brows furrowing with confusion.

The boy just shook his head, shoulder blades scraping against the wall's corner, body trembling. "No, no, no. I don't know anyone named Demyx. I've never― and that's not― Dad wouldn't let anyone else― He―" He cut himself off, voice halting abruptly as he caught sight of his hands, the bandages barely whiter than his skin. If possible, his eyes widened even more, that level of terror from before doubling a hundred times over as his hands shook and shook and shook.

And then suddenly he was pulling. Pulling at the bandages and scratching at their seams, shaking his head with that stringy hair slapping against his shallow cheeks. "No, no, no, no, _no_. Get it off. Get it off. _Get it off!_"

Demyx just sat there for a moment, watching, horrified. And then his hands were bleeding again and he just couldn't stand it, surging forward and placing a hand over his mouth, trying to make him hush― Hush for just a little while because Axel would be coming back soon and he couldn't listen to this. He just _couldn't_. The boy struggled against him for a moment, but Demyx had his hands locked in one of his own, his mouth firmly shut and his body against his chest. He wasn't strong enough to hold out, but Demyx was, and he wasn't about to let go.

Once he was sure he wasn't going to scream or start whatever-that-was again, he pulled his hand away, watching as the boy's mouth closed, eyes so wide and bloodshot. And he was panicking. Completely and totally panicking, and Demyx had never been good at dealing with this kind of thing. He'd never been good at making people feel better when it involved anything more than an old lullaby and a bowl of soup. What was he supposed to do now?

"He hit me."

Demyx startled at the words, spoken so incredulously against his skin, those eyes still watching him as if they were searching for something. Trying to find something. And he really didn't know what he was supposed to do. "Yeah… Axel wasn't― He thought you were something else and it just didn't― Does your head hurt?"

The boy blinked a couple of times, pulling one of his hands away― one Demyx let go of easily― to hold at the side of his head. "I don't know a… He hurt me and I― I don't even…where is…," he trailed off, voice delirious, like he really didn't understand.

"He? He who?" Demyx parroted, head tilted, that thin little hand still trapped amongst one of his own. And the boy didn't answer. He just blinked and blinked and blinked, eyes growing heavier and struggling to stay open. After a moment, Demyx hesitantly lifted his free palm to his forehead, letting it rest there as soon as he was sure he wasn't going to pull away.

And he was burning.

"Oh," he sighed, smiling a little half smile. "You're not really here with me, are you? You're just delirious from the fever and once you really wake up, you won't remember this at all." And he hoped he didn't. He really hoped he didn't remember him floundering against him and trying to keep him from hurting himself. He really hoped he never remembered waking up so terrified and confused. Their world was already confusing and scary enough; he didn't need this too. "Umm… we should just get you back to bed. You look really tired. Would you like that?"

The boy didn't answer, but Demyx took it as a yes anyway, carefully maneuvering him back towards his sleeping bag, draping his own over him to ward off the growing chill in the air. And before long, he was sleeping again, those blue eyes hidden beneath a layer of choppy hair.

Cautiously, as soon as he was sure he was fully asleep, Demyx pulled his hands away from his body, pulling away the old bandages and replacing them with a new set that wasn't nearly as bloodstained. He didn't stir as he worked, not even twitching as he checked his forehead again less than thirty minutes later. The fever was still bad, but maybe it was going down. He didn't know.

Maybe he could find something in the shop that could bring his fever down? He sat back on his heels thinking that thought over, eyes switching from the store's shelves to the boy's finally peaceful form. He'd never been very good at dealing with sickness, but he did know that over the counter pills could control fevers, so maybe there was still a bottle lying around somewhere. Axel could probably think of a better solution, but he wasn't around― and thankfully so. The boy wouldn't have stood a chance if Axel had been around to witness that.

Demyx shuddered at the thought, shaking his head and making himself stand, chancing one last look at the boy cuddled under the blankets before sliding into the main part of the store.

Medicine. There had to be some somewhere.

* * *

><p>"Did he wake up at all?"<p>

The blond blinked, uncurling as Axel's lanky form made its way into their little nook, red hair a knotted mess pulled back away from his thin face. His green eyes looked at him expectantly, and Demyx could only shrug, biting at the inside of his cheek. "He woke up for a few minutes, but then he was out again."

"Did you get a name?"

"Not exactly." Sea foam eyes swiveled, taking in the sleeping form once again. He couldn't tell him that he woke up in an absolute frenzy. No. That would just be an absolute nightmare. But it felt like he was lying to him by not just coming right out and telling him. "He didn't really… stay awake that long."

Axel looked at him for a moment, taking in the slight hesitation and the way Demyx didn't really want to look at him. It was obvious he wasn't telling him something― something important. He was a terrible liar and always had been. But, thin lips quirked a bit to the side, he supposed that he would let Demyx have this. Demyx was idealistic when he wanted to be, but he still trusted him with his life. He wasn't going to jeopardize them. Not when they had already come this far. "Okay."

Demyx smiled at that, leaning back against the shelves once again and watching as Axel moved further into the space, grabbing the boy's bag as he passed it. Blond brows furrowed a bit at that, still just watching as the redhead flipped open the bag and began shifting through what was inside. "What are you doing? That's not ours."

"I know." He said it like it was so obvious, like Demyx shouldn't even be bothered. And he shouldn't be, not to Axel. To him this was necessary. It wasn't about preserving privacy and trying to become friends with someone. It was about survival. Staying alive. He needed to know what was in this bag because they needed to know as much about this person as they could. They were already taking a risk with him; they didn't need to make it any worse than it already was.

"Then put it down."

"I can't do that, Dem," he sighed, pulling out a ratty old blanket and a couple corroded cans of soup. Acidic green eyes looked at them for a moment, scrunching a bit at the tearing labels and long passed expiration dates. "No wonder he hasn't been eating."

"This is wrong." Demyx pulled the bag away, closing the flap and holding it against his chest. This wasn't okay. It was one thing to check him for bite marks; it was something completely different to go through his things without him awake to witness it. It just wasn't right. They may be in the middle of a battlefield and they may not know exactly how to handle it, but that didn't mean that they had to stop being human. It didn't mean that they had to trudge through this kid's privacy. It didn't mean that they had to take away whatever amount of security he still had left. "He hasn't done anything."

The older of the two took a deep breath, folding the old blanket beneath his hands and setting the cans to the side before reaching his hand out to take the bag back, spindly fingers patient and sure. "Do you think I _like_ doing this? If things were different, then maybe everything would be just fine, but look around us. You've seen it! We don't know this kid, Demyx. And I don't want to be the bad guy here, but I will be if you make me. We _have_ to make sure he can't hurt us. Don't you understand that?"

Demyx bit at this bottom lip, grip loosening on the bag. It wasn't so much what Axel had said that made him want to let go, but rather the way he said it. The way his voice was so exhausted around the edges, the way he sounded like he really didn't want to do this, like this seemed just as wrong to him as he thought it was. "Of course, I do. I understand that we have to be careful, and I don't want to make you out to be the bad guy, but can't we at least wait? Can't we let him show us instead of…doing _this_?"

"We can't wait that long."

The blond shuddered at that, eyes flickering to the oblivious body still curled underneath the blankets. He didn't _look_ like he could hurt them, his skin so pale and sickly with that fever still racing beneath his skin. Honestly, if what happened before was any indication, he was much more likely to hurt _himself _than he ever was _them_. But Axel couldn't know about that, and it wasn't like he didn't have a valid point. They didn't know this boy. They didn't know where he came from, the kind of world he lived in. All they knew was that he was here― and damn, he'd look so _terrified_ when he woken up and Axel couldn't know and―

He shook his head. He couldn't think about that right now. He couldn't think about those blue eyes and those bloodied fingers. He couldn't think about the way he'd tried to tuck himself away against the far corner or the fever that Demyx hoped the medication forced down his throat would bring down. He just couldn't. He couldn't think about that and then be the kind of person that violated his privacy. It was wrong, but they were at war. They had to survive. They just _had _to, and Axel was right. This was necessary. He didn't know him. In another world, where everything was still perfect and safe and they had some chance meeting at a stupid school function, everything would be fine. They could get to know each other before all the personal things came up. They could do things right. But here, where everything was so messed up and staying alive wasn't about paying the bills on time anymore, they just couldn't do that. They didn't have that kind of time. And maybe he was just being stupid and silly and irrational about this, but it just wasn't okay. It wasn't okay and it wasn't going to be okay.

But he would do it because he had to.

"Just…don't do any more than you have to, okay?" Green met blue, and the bag was back in Axel's spindly fingers, the flap opened and the tattered bottom sitting in his lap. And Demyx just watched as Axel began to pull out what was left.

The first was another blanket, smaller and in worse condition than the first, but obviously homemade. There were cigarette burns along the center and the ends were fraying in places, but it looked warm and well loved, like someone had spent just as much time using it as making it. The second was a children's book― an old copy of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, crinkled dollar bills falling from between the pages when Axel held it up. Next came a few pairs of socks and an extra pair of boxers, each falling into the pile with little grace.

And then there was a little book, just as handmade as the blanket. Axel looked at it for a moment, thin lips quirking to the side at whatever he saw splashed across the cover. "Well, at least we know his name now." He tossed the little book towards Demyx, watching as the blond caught it carefully between shaking fingers.

"Zexion," he read. And the words were all there as plain as day. Across the front page, written in this terrible scrawl across the yellow paper was the words _'My First Picture Album, To: Mom, From: Zexion_._' _And this was suddenly much more personal than it should be because they weren't supposed to find something like this, where the picture across the front page was of a perfect little family that was all smiles.

Carefully, Demyx sat it in his lap, soothing down the crinkled pages and trying so hard not to look at the person sleeping less than a foot away. He didn't want to look any farther. The front cover was far enough. He didn't know this boy, and it wasn't his place to plunder through his life like this. It just wasn't.

"Looks like that's everything." Axel propped his chin on one of his knees, green eyes looking at their guest with something akin to wonder. "It's surprising that he's still alive, all things considered. This really isn't much."

"Maybe he didn't have much." And Demyx's own words surprised him, coming out steady and strong, but still just as sad as they ever could have. He felt dirty. Maybe things would have been different if they had actually found something, but he didn't have anything. No weapons, no supplies to speak of. There was nothing, and there was no reason to just trample over everything like that. There just wasn't.

Axel shrugged a bit at that, those boney shoulders of his protruding beneath his thin jacket. "But we had to make sure." And just like that, he started putting everything back, grabbing the little album and placing it back at the bottom of the bag like it was before, the blankets carefully folded and positioned as a sort of barrier between it and the outside world. Demyx couldn't tell if he was trying to make things right by protecting it or simply trying to put everything back the way he had found it, but he wanted to believe that it was the former. That the Axel he used to run around with after school and have two A.M. pizza outings with was still in there somewhere, crushed underneath his protective exterior.

He wouldn't be able to bare it if he was gone too.

* * *

><p><strong>November 5, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Waking up was like being hit by a ton of bricks. Everything hurt― his head, his fingers, his toes, his chest. The worst was his head. It felt like it was splitting, splitting apart at the seams, his skull pushing painfully against his brain.<p>

And then there was the light, the voices all around him that he didn't recognize, and the heavy blankets that kept him rooted to the uncomfortable floor. This wasn't home; he didn't know where this was.

Slowly, carefully, he slid his eyes open, only to squint and groan at the light. It wasn't particularly bright, but it was enough to momentarily blind him, his eyes having been closed for what he assumed was days. All he could make out for a time was the throbbing in his temples and the spinning woodwork.

"Nice to see you finally decided to join us." Zexion started at the noise, tired elbows keeping him from colliding with the worn flooring. It wasn't a particularly threatening voice. The words didn't come across as malicious and there was nothing concerning about the way they were spoken, but they were cold. Quick. Like they were supposed to come off as calm but didn't quite meet their mark.

Dark blue eyes rose as he forced himself to shrug away the blankets and sit up properly, his vision momentarily swimming once he was fully upright. Directly in front of him sat a boy with fiery hair and sharp cheekbones, thin lips set in a firm line, legs crossed thoughtlessly in front of him, though the tension in them was evident. Behind him, tucked less securely in a corner of the little nook, sat another boy. He was obviously less hostile, knees tucked close to his chin, light eyes bright and curious.

They weren't outwardly threatening. They didn't exude any sort of intent.

They didn't seem safe.

"Your name?" The redheaded one asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively, green eyes watching him keenly.

The boy behind him shuffled forward at that, blond eyebrows carefully furrowed. "But Axel, we already kn―"

"I asked for your name," he said again, effectively cutting the other off mid-sentence. And Zexion didn't say anything for a while, watching as the friendlier one glanced between the two of them questioningly. The other cleared his throat, inching forward in a way that was clear― he expected an answer and he expected it soon.

White knuckles clenched a bit at that realization, button nose scrunching minutely. "My hearing is perfectly fine," he coughed, fighting against his scratchy throat to say what he wanted clearly. His voice came out raspy and hoarse, but by the way green eyes narrowed, he knew his intention was received. He did not appreciate being threatened, and he wasn't about to tell these people anything. "Besides, it's only polite to introduce yourselves first."

"These circumstances don't really dictate politeness." He sat up a little straighter, his height advantage clear. When Zexion didn't open his mouth to speak, he let out a little sigh, a feral sort of grin stretching across those thin lips. "Then it seems we are at an impasse." He leaned a bit to his side, effectively blocking the only exit.

Even if Zexion tried, he wouldn't be able to just walk out of here. He wouldn't have the strength to push past the redhead even if he wasn't in such bad condition physically, and then there was always the other one he would have to contend with. He seemed friendlier, but he hadn't really seen what he was capable of. If he tried to just walk away, he didn't know what kind of damage he could expect in retaliation. And running? Running had gotten him this far already, but he wouldn't be able to make it far even if he _did _manage to make it out.

It seemed that his only option was cooperating.

After what seemed like an eternity, he took a shaking breath, letting it settle in his chest before slowly exhaling. "Zexion. My name is Zexion," he whispered, letting his eyes lower to his hands, jumping a bit when he realized they were covered in crisp, white bandages.

"Last name?"

And at that, the one in the corner huffed, crawling forward and bumping the redhead to the side. "Oh, shove off it, Axe. We know he's not lying so just let it go."

Dark blue eyes rose once again, taking in the sandy blond hair and lightly dusted freckles. The redhead― Axe, as called by this oddity― didn't look pleased by the development, green eyes narrowed in just the slightest way, slender fingers, grasping onto the other's shirt in what seemed like a subconscious effort to hold him back, to keep him close and to keep him safe.

"Hi," he smiled, extending a hand across the distance that separated them. Zexion just looked at it for a moment, tilting his head to the side, watching as that grin dropped away and was replaced with what looked to be something like a cringe. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking." He rubbed at his neck sheepishly, letting his extended hand return to his side. "Do your hands hurt? I found some ointment that should have helped stop the cuts from getting infected, but… it might have been a little late."

He backed up a bit as the blond moved forward, seemingly oblivious to the way the redhead was trying to inconspicuously drag him back. He chanced a glance down at his hands again, and it made sense. The blond was the one who bandaged his hands and, on closer examination, his feet as well. He bit at his lower lip, allowing his choppy hair to fall in front of his eyes. "What's your name?" And it was really more of a whisper spoken under his breath because he wasn't trying to come off as strong anymore and his throat hurt far too much to even try.

The blond blanched at this, sheepishly rubbing at his neck like it was a nervous habit. "Sorry. That was― Bleh, manners. I'm always telling Naminé to be polite and here I go forgetting something as simple as that. Anyway, I'm Demyx. Demyx DiMonté if you want a last name, and this not so happy creature here," he nudged the other in the side with his elbow, "is Axel. He's normally nicer, I promise."

"Dem, he really doesn't need to know our―"

"If we need to know his, then he needs to know ours." And for a moment, acidic green looked into sea foam, something like determination crumbling between them. Eventually, Axel let go, standing and stretching out his lanky limbs before making his way out of the little area, some vague mentioning of food floating behind him. The one called Demyx just smiled at his back, turning back towards Zexion as soon as he was gone. "He's really not so bad. He's just a little," he hesitated, as if trying to come up with the right word, "stressed. Just a little stressed and soon, everything will be fine."

And as carefree as that smile was, Zexion nearly believed him.

"But that's not important right now." Carefully, he maneuvered himself forward, causing Zexion to shrink back against the corner, shoulder blades pushing against the wall, chest heavy with something like panic. He just kept getting closer and closer and― He put his hand to his forehead, sea-like eyes concentrating intensely as his palm splayed across the smooth skin. Zexion startled a bit, panic subsiding in his confusion, the hand cool and… not meeting directly with parts of his skin. His nose scrunched at that, eyes squeezing shut when Demyx finally pulled his hand away with a little sigh, relief coming through in his voice. "Well, that's one less worry, at least."

Blue eyes blinked at that, carefully maneuvering one of his bandaged hands to his forehead, damaged fingertips grazing across a scratchy sort of cotton material. _Another bandage_, his mind quickly supplied. "I don't understand."

Demyx sucked on his cheek, leaning in like he was trying to keep a secret. "You had a fever. I had to make sure it was gone." And with that he backed away, putting a safer distance between them, knees coming gracefully to rest against his chest. "I gave you some medicine and I guess it worked. We'll just have to make sure it stays gone. Axel's been a little… overprotective, so it's really just best if we keep this between us, okay?"

Hesitantly, Zexion nodded, bandaged fingers knotting together in his lap. "I don't really understand how I―" He shook his head, effectively cutting himself off. "What's going on exactly? Where is here?"

Demyx rolled back on his heels, glancing towards the ceiling. "We're in an old shop not so far from Twilight Town. That takes care of the here, but," his lips quirked as he shrugged, "I guess I really don't know what's going on. There were reports on the TV about outbreaks, but everything just sort of happened." He shrugged again, looking a bit melancholy for a moment before immediately perking back up again. "Where are you from?" Zexion just stared. "Sorry. That was― You don't have to answer that if you don't want to, I was just asking because you looked like you were going to pass out when you got here. Before Axel hit you with the frying pan, I mean― and I'm sure he's sorry about that― and I don't know, it just seems like you would have had to come an awfully long way to get beat up like that."

The frailer of the two blinked, pulling his knees to his chest and crossing his arms over them, resting his throbbing head against the worn denim of his jeans. There couldn't be any harm in telling him where he was from, could there? He was never going to go back there anyway; it wasn't home anymore. "Hollow Bastion."

Demyx nodded at this, mentally trying to configure a map in his head. Hollow Bastion is right outside of Radiant Garden, isn't it? He could vaguely remember riding the train through the dirty city a few times on his way to the capital to visit his parents. He sat up a little straighter at the realization, watching the boy in front of him intently. "Do you know about Radiant Garden? Are the people there safe?"

Dark blue eyes glazed a bit, glancing downwards to the bandages surrounding his bruised feet. He didn't want to think about Radiant Garden. It was a beautiful city, surely, and while his family had always lived on the poorer side of Hollow Bastion, they used to visit the city's parks a lot when he was younger. And he knew they weren't there anymore. Nothing was. The outpouring of infected that took over Hollow Bastion _came_ from Radiant Garden. If it wasn't for them, his city might still be okay. "They're not…The reports said that Radiant Garden was one of the epicenters. I'm sorry."

The blond deflated, nodding his head in understanding before letting the subject drop, shoulders slumped inward as he leaned against the shelving lining the wall. Zexion pulled one of the blankets toward him, wrapping it heavily across his shoulders as he watched. Demyx must have had someone there; it was the only conclusion he could come up with. The only one that made sense.

Together, they lapsed into silence, Demyx staring off into the woodwork with Zexion lightly dozing against his knees, eyes blinking open in an effort to stay awake. After some time had passed, Axel moved back into the room, a tray of food held carefully out in front of him. He handed one off to Demyx before bringing the other to Zexion, dropping it unceremoniously by his feet. And Zexion could only blink at it. It wasn't a feast by any means― just a bowl of soup with what looked to be stale bread― but he couldn't stop his mouth from watering. And it didn't matter if he didn't fully trust these people.

He dug in anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>November 7, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Axel pulled his bag a little higher on his shoulders, the extra weight of excess supplies pulling uncomfortably against his shoulder blades. It didn't matter; he knew they were necessary. Behind him, he could see Demyx and Zexion walking side by side. They were going much slower than he was― more because of Zexion than Demyx. The boy they didn't quite know was limping because of his feet and Demyx had obviously decided to keep pace with him. It didn't really bother the redhead that Demyx had insisted Zexion come along with them. Really, it didn't. He didn't hate him. He didn't have anything against him.<p>

But he was slowing them down.

Axel had been perfectly prepared to leave him with a portion of their supplies and let him stay at the shop until he was fully healed. Then, he could go his own way and everything would be taken care of. Demyx, upon hearing that particular plan, hadn't seen reason. To him, they would be abandoning him. And, under any other circumstances, maybe Axel would have agreed with him. But they had to think about themselves here. They had to stay as safe as possible, and waiting for someone with damaged feet and who knows how many other medical problems just coming to the surface, was not safe. It wasn't even remotely practical. For Christ sakes, after eating for the first time, the kid had dry heaved for an hour!

But Demyx refused leave without him, so here they were, walking down the same set of railroad tracks they were before, hoping to make it into Twilight Town before nightfall.

Axel just hoped that they managed to find shelter once they got there. They had gotten lucky in finding the shop. It had provided protection and supplies for a number of days, not to mention the fact that it still had running water and electricity. Finding anything else remotely like it was going to be tricky, especially with the three of them. He couldn't leave Demyx alone with Zexion for too long― he didn't trust him enough for that― but he also couldn't bring them with him when he went out scouting for a place. They'd just slow him down, especially if there ran into a horde of those things. He could outrun them― and maybe they could too― but he didn't want to take any chances.

He glanced forward, acidic eyes taking in the dying trees and dust-coated tracks. The woods were beginning to thin.

Twilight Town was just up ahead.

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><p><strong>AN: ****_Holy shiznits!_ Is that character interaction? It is! Sound the alarms; the zombie apocalypse has _officially _begun!**

**Okay. I'm done. Ignore me.**

**I really am excited about the character interaction in this chapter though. It's not up to par with the final product of _Keys and Kissing_ at this point, but I don't entirely hate the outcome, even if the characters are a little stiffer than I would like them to be in places. And I can only do so much with one character in a scene. They're not quite crazy enough to hold conversations with themselves. ^^'**

**I'm still a little worried about how the personalities are coming across as well. Axel is...odd and Zexion and Demyx are still a bit wishy-washy at this point. Hopefully, it'll all even out as I grow into their characters more, but feel free to give me your opinion on how you think they're developing at this point. **

**Production: Eh, school is still crap at this point, but I'll be graduating on the first day of June, so hopefully, everything will be slowing down soon. I finally completed the full plotline of this story, which ends at ten full chapters (if everything stays like it's supposed to****― ****it never does), so things should be speeding up soon. Expect a chapter around this time next month and then multiple monthly submissions following because I need to have this completed by the end of August (I'll be starting college and would rather not try to keep with deadlines during my first semester). I'm not making any promises, but that's the plan. **

**Question: How do you feel about the character dynamics at this point? Between Zexion and his mother? Between Axel and Demyx? I'm not sure how everything is coming across to the typical reader (read: I suck at explanations) and it's important that it translates correctly for the story to make sense, so could you please let me know how you see them? It would really help.**

**Quiz: The next character introduced is a character first featured in _Another Side, Another Story_ and widely considered to have three other counterparts. Who is it? **

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). ^_^**


	4. Intruders

**This is late. And I'm sorry. I could give you reasons why this is late, but the fact is that I could have had it done earlier if I'd tried. **

**Truthfully, I'm a little disenchanted with this pairing at the moment. I still love them, but their archive is dead— and that saddens me. So, I've been trying to rekindle my love for them and Kingdom Hearts in general. I started playing Re: coded and reading the fan fiction of other pairings. It's helped, but I'm still working on it. Just give me some time to get back into the swing of things. (And while you're waiting, check my favorites page for the stories "Candy Boy" and "Boys" for the Riku/Sora pairing. They will blow your mind.)**

**Summary (which I'm going to leave for the duration of this story for the sake of consistency): _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle…_**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. I'm sorry you've had to wait so long. **

**I would also like to thank Besieged . Infection for betaing this chapter. She's awesome. However, still let me know if you find any problems.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Long, spindly fingers curled, pulling at the knots along the nape of his neck nervously. He felt stupid, emerald eyes avoiding those crystal blue pools, staring at the worn leather couch pushed so thoughtlessly against one of the apartment's living room walls. Really, there was no reason for him to be acting this way. He had just turned nineteen; he was an adult. He was an adult that was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He had before. It wasn't like this was going to be anything new.<p>

But it felt wrong this time.

Something in the pit of his stomach felt like there was something wrong this time. That he shouldn't let him leave. That he should fall to the floor and pitch one of those fits he used to as a child. That he should do anything in the world to keep him here— against his will or not.

Those green eyes flickered at the thought, swiveling to watch as his brother bustled about his room, packing away clothes and other necessities. He wasn't a child anymore. He wasn't going to beg and plead for Reno to stay with him— Reno had played father long enough. It wasn't his job to watch after Axel anymore; he was old enough to do that himself.

So he wouldn't take this away from him. He wouldn't take away the only vacation Reno had managed to plan since their parents left. The man was almost thirty now, and he'd been taking care of him since he was just a child. He deserved to get away, to have some time to himself. He deserved a life that didn't revolve around Axel and all the little things that he had to provide to keep Axel happy. He was an older brother— not a father— and he deserved the chance to act like it. And if that meant leaving to go on a two week vacation with his coworker, then so be it.

Even _if _Axel really didn't want him to go.

"Yo, do you think this'll be too flashy for Olympus?" Axel tilted his head to the side, leaning precariously against the door frame, watching as his brother held up a pair of whitewashed jeans, his identical thin fingers wrapping around the scratchy fabric, crystal blue eyes watching him with that same air of curiosity that they always did.

"No, but they'll be too hot. It's scorching over there." Reno's thin nose scrunched at that, eyes rotating from Axel to the pants and back again before tossing them to the side, allowing them to fall into one of the many piles of clothes littering his floor and setting out to once again begin rummaging through his closet. Axel quirked his mouth to the side a bit, just watching him, listening to the grunts and groans he made in an effort to move things out of the way.

As much as he wanted Reno to stay, he wasn't even going to ask. He was going to stand here and smile and tell him that it was okay to have a good time, but only if he remembered to bring him back a souvenir. He was going to lie and say he was looking forward to two weeks of hanging out with Demyx and not having to deal with Reno whining about his job. He wouldn't like it, but he would say it. Because it's what Reno needed to hear from him in order to board that train and have a good time.

And Axel couldn't keep holding him back.

In the beginning, it really wasn't his fault. He was eight. His mom and dad had just walked out and Reno, being the only family he had left, had stepped in to take care of him. He had willingly given up everything to keep him from becoming just another kid lost in the government system of foster care and orphanages. He had given up his dream job, moved back to Atlantica, and become the parent that he really shouldn't have had to be. But he'd done it for Axel, and he'd never once complained. And as much as none of that was really Axel's fault, it _was _Axel's fault that he hadn't had the chance to live up to his full potential. He was the one who held him back.

But he wasn't a child anymore. He wasn't the same eight-year-old little boy that didn't understand what was going on. He wasn't the same kid that couldn't figure out his math homework. He wasn't the same gangly brat that kept acting out and making everything harder. That wasn't him anymore, and it was time for him to finally let Reno go. Not completely, because he could never, ever let Reno go completely— he was always going to be his big brother— but enough. He could let him go enough for him to have his own life, for him to live for himself for a little while.

He owed him that, didn't he?

Carefully, he pushed himself away from the door frame, those long fingers of his pressing against the old wooden door with an air of finality. He dropped to the bed once he reached it, letting the black comforter and mushy mattress swallow him for a moment —relishing in the feel of it for what ominously felt like the last time, pulling at the piles and piles of shirts taking up the space near the headboard. And as much as he didn't want to, he couldn't help but smile, dragging the thinnest ones into his lap and folding them, still watching as his brother wrestled with the wreck within his closet for a pair of wearable bottoms.

For a while, they stayed like that. Axel packed away the shirts, filling in the space around Reno's rather carelessly placed undergarments, and watched as Reno pulled out more jeans and shorts, cramming the bed with them. Reno held up more pants for him to turn down, and the suitcase just got fuller and fuller until there wasn't any space left.

And it was stupid and silly and overly dramatic, but Axel felt like he was packing away his life with every inch.

"Are you planning anything while I'm gone?" Red hair blanketed Reno's face as he said it, leaning over to zip up his leather blue suitcase, the zipper straining around his clothes, but Axel could just imagine that smile of his stretching across his thin lips. "Something with Demyx and Naminé maybe?" And as apprehensive as his voice sounded when he asked, quivering in just the slightest way, he was just as hopeful as he was nervous. Axel could understand that; Reno was worried about him in the same way that he always was. So, he did the only thing he could do. He made it easy.

"Yeah. Nami's leaving in a day or two to go on some trip, so I'll probably stay with Demyx the whole time you're gone. That's cool, right?" He smiled that convincing smile, lifting thin eyebrows, and leaning back against his palms.

Reno looked at him out of the corner of his eye, standing up straighter, cocking his hip slightly to the side. "That's cool, yo. Just don't forget to call. And make sure no one breaks into the apartment too. That's the la—"

A horn blared from outside, echoing against the apartment walls and cutting him off mid-sentence

Scrunching his nose, Reno checked his watch, one gangly wrist sticking out from beneath his sleeves. "Shit! I'm going to make us miss our train!" And just like that, he was stuffing his feet into his shoes and running towards the door, that offending suitcase knocking against his hip.

For a moment, Axel just sat there with that sinking feeling in his gut, the sounds of Reno leaving reverberating through the apartment, but then he was up, tripping over his sock-clad feet as he made his way through the kitchen just as Reno was opening the front door.

"Hey!" Reno stopped, head tilted slightly to the side as Axel pulled him into a bone crushing hug, their thin frames whacking against each other in a way that was almost painful. And it only lasted a few seconds, but Axel just kept trying to savor it, taking in the way his brother always smelled like pinewood and burnt pizza, taking in the way they would never quite fit together because they were just too thin. Then, it was over. He was pulling away and knotting his fingers against the hemline of his shirt to keep from grabbing at him again and never letting him go. "Be safe, okay? Do that for me."

Blue eyes just looked at him, slightly concerned, those thin lips turned upwards in just the slightest way. "Yeah, bro. Always."

Then, the horn blared again and he was gone, fingertips brushing against him one last time before he made his way out the door. And Axel didn't turn away. He just stood there and watched as Reno made his way down the apartment's stairs and into the awaiting taxi. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was the last time he was ever going to see him, so he had to make sure.

He had to make sure he didn't miss a second of it.

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><p><strong>November 7, 2011<strong>

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><p>"Keep your eyes peeled. This place is a lot bigger than the shop; they could be hiding anywhere."<p>

Icy blue eyes squinted at that, startling at the noise, taking in the setting sun streaking through the cracked windowpanes up above. That wasn't right. The sound wasn't right. He hadn't heard anything like that in days— maybe even weeks. There were screams from outside in the beginning, begging and chewing and desolation, but there wasn't anything like that. There weren't any coherent sentences. There were no conversations. It was all probably just a figment of his imagination. A piece of a pretty dream he didn't quite want to wake up from. A hope, a fantasy that there was someone else left in this place.

Stupid. He shouldn't dream like that. It would just disappoint him.

"Are you sure coming here is a good idea? We passed another shop on the way here. We could check there."

Those eyes widened, their lithe owner bolting upright, body tensing. That was a different voice than the one from before. It wasn't as sure; it wasn't as precise. Honey blond eyebrows scrunched, taking in what that could mean. If the voices weren't just in his head, it meant that there was someone else. That he wasn't dreaming and that he wasn't alone.

"Just keep your gun out, Dem. Stay close to Zexion and make sure you're ready if you need to be."

His heart sunk into his chest, fingers knotting in the camouflage blanket pooling at his waist. Guns— they had guns. That was never a good sign. In the beginning, he's thought that it would be easy to join up with another group of survivors. He'd thought that he military would swoop in with a plan. That was how the movies always went. They made it seem easy, like everything just fell into place.

But it wasn't easy.

The military wasn't deployed in time. He'd lost his friends in the frenzy, watched as one was eaten alive. And there was no one left he could trust. When the outbreaks had just begun, he'd gone into hiding, found himself a place where he knew he could stay safe— it wasn't hard; he'd been a part of Twilight Town since he was a child— devised a plan. He was going to wait until someone came through that he could tag along with. Someone he could trust.

When stragglers were still coming through the area, he thought he'd have a fair shot at finding himself a group of people. But there was always something wrong. Some people would come through by themselves, sick and feverish, raving nonsense about how it was all a conspiracy, about how they were right all along. Others would come with their heads held high, angry frowns turning their lips. They didn't seem right. Nothing about them felt safe.

And then, there were the people with the guns.

They were the worst ones. In the movies and the novels that used to be so popular, they were the ones that you wanted to be with. They were the ones who survived. But, here, in reality, they were terrifying. He'd only seen two groups of gun wielders so far, but he already knew that he didn't want to see anymore. The first was small, made up of only two people with raggedy hair and tattered clothing. Their smell was vile, almost worse than the infected, putrid enough to keep him from getting too close. But that wasn't what made him stay away. It was the way they smiled with their crooked, yellow teeth and acted like they were enjoying it, laughing when they shot up into the sky and called the hordes towards them. The second group wasn't much better. They were larger in number— he only saw five of them, but he was sure there were more— but they had the same air about them. They were dressed like they were going hunting. And that didn't sit well with him. He couldn't think of the infected like animals to be gunned down.

They were people once, weren't they?

"Okay. I can—" He could hear a breath being taken, sharp and near panic-stricken in the musky air. "I can do that."

"Just calm down. Everything's going to be fine."

Blue eyes blinked, thoughtful, head tilting toward the sound coming from below. They didn't sound right. And maybe he was just being hopeful and idealistic, but there was something different about the voices coming up from the ground below, echoing against the walls. They didn't sound like the others. There was something else there, something young and human and _scared_.

With that thought in mind, he silently crawled toward the metal railing that secured his platform and looked out to the factory below, baggy jeans shuffling along his knees and pulling against the blanket. Carefully— so carefully— he peeked his head between the rusty metal bars, making sure to keep his face mostly obscured in the shadows, his fingers brushing against the splintering wood.

And he couldn't help but think that they looked different than the others.

There were three of them. Two of them were farther back than the one, close to one another, but not too close. One was a step ahead of the other, shielding him in a way, gun held out before him, shaking in his two-hand hold. It didn't look right, like the wielder wasn't used to its weight. And, despite the fact that he couldn't see the wielder's face in the dim lighting, he could almost imagine the nervous way his eyes would dart around at every little sound, the way his bottom lip would stay sandwiched between his rows of teeth. Not that he would know for sure.

The one beside him was smaller, frailer, almost hidden in the shadows. And while the other one was open, talking with the one that was making his way farther and farther into the warehouse, this one was closed off, body turned slightly to the side, backpack pulling at his shoulders. He didn't look ready for a fight at all, arms held protectively against his chest, like he was trying to keep himself together.

But that was a silly thought. Maybe isolation had him trying to understand a little too much.

The one that was away from them was taller, body hunched in just the slightest way to protect his midsection as he made his way forward, muscles tensed like he was ready for anything, bulging bag held high on his shoulders. He couldn't see his face, much like the others, but he could see the shocking red hair knotted against his neck, sticking up in every direction. He was obviously the one in charge, or, at least, the one that the other ones were following, listening to. If any one of them was a threat, it was him.

Abruptly, the redhead straightened, turning back towards the other two and motioning them forward. "There's nothing here. We're safe," he shrugged his backpack off, allowing it to drop to the cement floor with an echoing thump. "For now, anyway." He snuggled closer to the bars, honey colored hair falling into his eyes, head tilting in an effort to hear more of the muffled words exchanging below.

The others shuffled forward, the apprehensive looking one sliding his gun into one of his belt loops as he came closer, the other seemingly watching the tips of his shoes. They were an odd group. Not like the others. But he wasn't sure yet. He wasn't sure yet if he could trust them or if he should give up his hiding place. He'd been here for a long, long time. And he was safe. He couldn't risk that for these people. Not just yet.

"So… I guess we should block the exits?" The one with the gun tilted his head to the side, watching as the leader's head swiveled. "That's what we did before."

"Yeah. We can move some of these crates to barricade the doors at the front. There's probably a set of loading doors in the back we'll have to cover too." The redhead seemed thoughtful for a moment, seemingly taking in the warehouse floor and the many crates of equipment covering it. He had to admit that it was a solid plan. Block the exits— make it so that no one can get in so you don't have to get out. It's what he did in the beginning; it worked for him before, and it had apparently worked for them in the past as well.

The frailer one, the one with the protective arms and unnatural interest in his shoes, shook his head at that, hair swinging against his cheeks almost violently, like he rejected the whole idea. "That won't work here." And the way he said it was so final, whispered like a secret, that he nearly didn't hear him from his perch up above.

With red hair shuffling to the side, the leader regarded him, eyes raking over his thin frame, eyebrows rising. He looked like he was about to reject the statement, but the other one spoke up, head tilting, his own bag hitting the floor. "Why wouldn't it, Zexion?"

The one called Zexion took a step back, arms wrapping around his waist— and he could just barely see the white of bandages peeking out from beneath his baggy sleeves— as he spoke, "There's too much open space. Blocking the exits would work for a little while, but most of these crates should hold fishing equipment. We won't be able to move them. We won't be able to put enough force around the doors."

And he could attest that the rather frail looking boy was right about that.

They were silent for a moment, Zexion looking back down at his shoes, the leader looking as if he was trying to decide if he was right or not. In the end, he seemed to accept it, leaning his head back to look into the skylight above, taking in the ever-darkening sky. And then, just like that, he was moving towards the crates, leaving his backpack behind along with the others. He couldn't help but tilt his head a little farther to the side, rusty bars biting into his cheek. What was he doing?

"You said most of these crates hold fishing equipment, right?" Zexion nodded at the sharp chin and shocking red hair pointed his way. "Then, there should be weapons here too, yeah? Hooks, nets— anything. We could even use the bait if we have to." He started to pull at the latch on one of the crates toward the center of the warehouse, thin forearms straining at the weight of the heavy metal.

That wasn't okay.

Anything else. They could do anything else. They could stick around for a day or two, make a campfire and start singing _Kumbaya_ for all he cared, but they couldn't do that. They couldn't search the crates. Nearly every provision he'd found since going into hiding was hidden among those crates. They couldn't search them; he couldn't let them take everything.

Quickly, angrily, he snatched the knife hidden beneath his pillow, flipping it around in his palm, getting used to the weight of the thing as he silently lowered the rope ladder that kept him separated from the cement ground below. He wouldn't let them take anything, different from the others or not.

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><p>Demyx shrugged a bit, watching as Axel worked with one of the crate lids, dirty blond hair touching at his shoulders and shaking against his cheeks. He knew he should help, but something just didn't feel right about this place. It didn't feel dangerous. Really, it didn't. But he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that they were being watched, like there were eyes raking down his back.<p>

It was unsettling.

"Will we be able to carry it?" He swiveled his head to the side, sea foam eyes locking with the much deeper blue pools of the boy beside him. _Zexion_. He was an oddity, someone that he really didn't understand. And maybe that was for the best.

"Hmm," he hummed, chapped lips pressed together, body turning in just the slightest way so he would know he was listening.

Zexion bit at his lower lip, eyes shifting away and flicking between Axel and the tips of his battered shoes. His feet still hurt; he could feel the cuts scraping against the bandages when he tried to walk. He didn't think they would be going away anytime soon, all of them deep and angry. Sighing a little to himself at the thought, he shifted back to Demyx, fingering the tattered straps of his backpack, anxiously taking in the feel of the fraying material. "The equipment, I mean. We won't be able to carry much more in these bags," he swallowed, voice cracking at the end, his throat still raw and sore.

Demyx opened his mouth as if to speak, but then let it close again, dirty blond eyebrows furrowing above his eyes. He glanced at his and Axel's bags lying on the ground, mouth quirking a bit as he looked back toward Zexion. He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah… Probably not. Axe—"

A loud bang echoed throughout the warehouse, the sound bouncing off the walls and pulling against their eardrums. Zexion cringed, nose scrunching minutely as he hurriedly cupped his ears, Demyx mirroring his movements and taking a step back, sea-like eyes wide as he stared toward the ceiling. The skylight rattled along its frame.

Axel stood upright, acidic eyes scanning the area, alert. Carefully, he removed his spindly fingers from the crate's lid, taking in the way that nothing seemed to move, that the sound could have come from anywhere. That wasn't good. That wasn't good at all. He swallowed thickly, turning his body in just the slightest way so he had a clear line of sight to the center of the warehouse where the other two stood, the optimistic hope that maybe they were the ones who made the sound crawling at his throat. They had barely moved, the both of them facing him with wide eyes, maybe hoping that it was him.

The sound echoed again, stronger this time, the crates along the warehouse floor vibrating, rattling at the sound.

They stilled, bodies tensing as if prepared for an invading army, and Axel could clearly make out the barely concealed panic clouding Demyx's eyes, taking over his friend's face like it did on the first day of high school. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his back against the crate he'd been trying to open, his spinal column protesting against the shock of the cool metal, and started signaling to Demyx, fingers reaching toward his belt loops. The blond just looked at him for a moment, those eyes so wide, before he started to move, his hands visibly shaking as they traveled around his back.

Again, the sound went off, this time louder, closer, the distinct sound of rubber against concrete tickling his ringing ears. And he saw Demyx's mouth open, eyes going so impossibly wide, but it was too late.

His hair was being pulled, neck bent over the top of the crate, the feel of cool metal pressing against his flesh. "Don't move."

He swallowed, inhaling and exhaling as steadily as he could with a blade stretched across his Adam's apple. His hair was yanked backwards, his body bent, tip-toes keeping him as planted to the ground as they could. Vaguely, at the bottom of his vision, he could make out the figures of Demyx and Zexion, Zexion's body turned slightly to the side defensively, Demyx's gun held out in front of his trembling form. He took another breath at the sight, deeper this time. Demyx could take the shot. He could _make_ the shot. But he couldn't. Not with him so close to whomever his attacker was. He wouldn't take the chance.

That didn't bode well for him.

Gritting his teeth, he let his jade eyes swivel upwards, the warehouse's skylight with the dim lighting of the outside illuminating his vision for just a moment as he tried to take in his captor's face. He couldn't see much, most of him hidden, either by his own red hair or the shadowy lights, but what he did see was surprising. He didn't know what he was expecting to see. Age, maybe. Dark lines across their forehead, hair as dirtied as it always was in prison photos. He didn't expect wisps of honey blond and endless blue, slathers of fading freckles dotting a rather button-like nose.

No. That wasn't what he was expecting at all.

"Get your boy to drop the gun." His hair was tugged backwards a little harder, that voice— his age, maybe younger— as cold as ice, but still human. Still undeniably human. Maybe he could still reason with him.

"Look, man, we're just—"

Another tug to his hair, his toes straining, calves shaking as he tried to stay upright. There would be no reasoning. "I will slit your throat right here and now. Make him drop that gun." To get his point across or maybe just to accent his own words, he pressed the knife's blade a little harder against his unprotected skin.

He sucked in his breath, chest expanding as he tried not to panic. "Dem… shoot." His hair was pulled back impossibly far, the figure behind him, mostly hidden by the crate, crouched lower.

"What the hell do you think you're doing," the voice growled at him. It was definitely angry, but… there was something wrong. There was something else there. Fear? No, that couldn't be it.

"Demyx," he called, voice shaking in just the slightest way, lips trembling, "shoot him. Just take the shot."

"What? I can't— Axel, I can't— Not with you like—"

The knife pressed a little closer, slicing through the first layer of skin, warm blood dripping along the tip. And he was going to die here. He just knew it. "It's okay, Dem. Just do it."

He felt the knife scrape along his neck, an accidental, harmless movement as the captor readjusted his position, his breath speeding up as he tried to keep himself out of the line of fire. "I'll gut your friend if you don't drop that gun. Don't think I won't." The voice was louder this time, addressing the room at large instead of just the redhead, his voice echoing like the sound from before, but there was a quiver in the way he spoke, like maybe he wouldn't deliver on that threat even if Demyx did refuse to drop the gun.

But he wouldn't. Because Demyx didn't take chances like that.

The gun dropped to the unforgiving cement, the clatter of it sharp. "Let him go. We'll— We'll just leave, okay? No one has to get hurt." And Axel couldn't see him with his head bent back as far as it would go now, but he could just imagine those wide eyes of his, his shaking hands held up in surrender.

He felt breath against his hair, wobbly and unsure as it puffed out against the red mess. The knife fell in just the slightest way, the tenseness in the body behind him draining now that the gun was no longer in the mix.

And he took his chances.

In a split second, with that knife pulled just the barest inch away from him, he let his body fall, swerving it to the side. The grip on his hair didn't waver, but he was obviously bigger than the one holding him upright, his captor's body following him towards the floor, tumbling down onto him. Axel was okay with that; he could fight back now.

His head slammed into the ground, stars swimming in front of his eyes, but he didn't let it stop him. As soon as he was down, he flipped himself over, the honey blond hair of his captor tickling his nose as his body was flipped as well. And then they were eye to eye, blue to green, breath quick and tense between them, the knife fallen within arm's reach. Hastily, angrily, Axel grabbed it, placing the tip carefully above the other's pulsing jugular.

"I think you have some explaining to do."

Icy blue eyes stared up at him defiantly, seemingly more angry than anything, blood rushing from a scrape near his hairline. With no warning at all, he spit, the saliva bursting against the redhead's face. "Fuck you."

Axel's jaw tensed, his eyes seeing red as he grabbed at the other's hair with his free hand and slammed his head back down against the cement, body falling over him as he leaned closer towards those damn eyes. "What the hell, man," he snarled, those spindly fingers of his knotting in that honey blond hair.

And suddenly, there were hands at his shoulders, pulling him up. "Axel, Axel— Please, he's not a threat. You don't have to—"

He shook them off, ignoring Demyx's voice as he brought them forehead to forehead. Blue eyes didn't blink. "Give me a reason. I swear, right here, right now, give me a reason to slice you open."

Sounds echoed through the warehouse. Metal and flesh, aluminum and rubber and fabric all mixed up into one.

He stopped, pulling himself slightly away so that he was straddling the blond below him, that knife still poised to break through skin. Emerald eyes shifted slightly, keeping an eye on the widening eyes of the blond, but taking in the way that Zexion and Demyx had come closer without him even noticing them, Demyx biting his lip and staring at him like he was pleading, Zexion turning his head this way and that way as if trying to find the source of the sound, his bag still held against his back, Demyx's held waveringly between bandaged fingers.

"Who else is here?" The knife's blade pushed a little harder against creamy skin, those blue eyes staring straight at him.

The blond swallowed heavily, icy blue pools so wide— frightened now. "I'm the only one."

"Like I'm going to believe that." The sounds started up again, his voice nearly lost in them as they vibrated against the outer walls, shaking breaths coming from his former captor like rapid little puffs.

"I swear, I'm the only one. There's no one else. That's _them_." And maybe it was the way that his voice quivered and his hands came up grab at his wrists for the first time, but Axel believed him.

They had to move, and they had to move _now_.

With surprising agility, Axel rolled off, banging his knee against the cement and making a run for his bag, the blond scrambling to his feet and motioning towards them to follow him as he ran through the warehouse, zigzagging passed the metal crates despite the dim lighting— Nightfall? It was already nightfall? — and leading them towards a rope ladder obscured by a mountain of crates, concealed perfectly in its surroundings. The blond was out in front, Zexion right at his heels, despite his damaged feet and the bag slapping against his back. A few feet behind him, Demyx was struggling to keep up, his bag of supplies half on his back and pulling him slightly to the side. Axel brought up the rear, his own bag secured against his back once again as he caught up to them, that horrible sound of flesh and metal and who knows what else increasing as it got closer and closer. They were in the warehouse now. They had to be with that sound doubling as it echoed and vibrated.

The blond was the first one on the ladder, climbing the thing with ease. Zexion went up next, slipping every few steps as the ropes swung, his tattered shoes not being able to steady him as his ascended. And when Zexion finally made it up and onto the safety of the platform above, the climb seemingly taking ages even though it only took a few precious seconds, the sound was getting louder, closer. Screeches and claws— and the _stench_, the smell of rotting and corpses wafting towards them, burning their nostrils.

And Axel did the only thing he could do to make sure Demyx made it up.

He pushed his friend forward, closer towards the ropes, grabbing the bag off of his back and slinging it onto his own. "Go, Demyx. _Go_."

Blue eyes looked at him, wide and terrified, those chapped lips trembling, but Demyx did what he was told. He snatched at the ropes and pulled himself up, faster than Zexion, his shoes keeping him in place as the ropes tried to swing out from under him. The other two grabbed at his shoulders once he made it to the top, and Axel took that as his cue to begin.

With the sound and the stench coming closer and closer, he shouldered the backpacks and climbed, muscles straining against the added weight. He was going slower than the other two, so much slower, but he couldn't let the supplies go. They _needed _them. And he wasn't going to be the reason they were lost. Steadily, he made it to the top, nails pulling at the platform as he tried to yank himself all the way up against the splintered surface.

His foot slipped.

The ropes swing with him, jerking him this way and that— And he could see them, their shadows running along the ground, sliding into each other and swerving between the crates. They looked so human, but they weren't. They just weren't. They were horrible and vile and they were going to make it to this damn ladder and _eat_ him. And he knew he should look away. He knew he should. But he could already feel the panic setting in at that realization, at the very idea of it all ending right here and now. What was going to happen if he never managed to see Reno again? What was Demyx going to do without him? What was he going to do if the supplies went down with him? It would be all his fault and he wouldn't even—

Hands snatched at him, grabbing at the bags on his back, grabbing at his hair, grabbing at anything they could reach. His feet kicked against the ropes, his body swaying dangerously as those hands tugged at him. And just like that, he was on the platform, splintered wood grating against his chest, someone lifting the rope behind him.

Emerald met icy blue and he'd never been so thankful in his life.

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><p>Deep blue pools stared at the tips of tattered shoes through a curtain of hair, their owner curled tightly in the corner, hands cupped over his ears to try to keep the sounds from sinking into his head. They had been safe for hours, the four of them held high above the ground on the wooden platform with the rusty metal bars. The sun was completely gone now, the moon high in the sky, its light sneaking in through the skylight and illuminating the ground below, illuminating the bodies of the infected as they scavenged, as they fought each other, ate each other.<p>

He'd only looked over the side once, curious when the noises had reached their peak. He wouldn't be doing it again. What he saw in those few precious seconds… He didn't think he'd ever be able to un-see those images. Those images of rotting flesh peeling off by the pound, of claws and teeth, of yellowed eyes and matted hair. Those images of walking corpses and oozing blood as they started tearing into each other, hungry for anything and anyone. Those images would play across his eyelids forever. He'd never be able to make them go away.

Just like the ones from before.

Hesitantly, he glanced upwards, eyes taking in the knobby knees pulled so carefully to his chin before searching out farther, the moon's faint light revealing the faces of the others. Demyx was the closest, the blond lying on his back near the wall, turned away from the chaos, lanky arms held over his eyes like he was trying to be anywhere by there, his bag and Axel's making a makeshift blockade between him and the rest of the world— he couldn't really blame him for that. Axel sat farther away, his body cross-legged as he leaned against the bars, emerald eyes shining with a strange sort of fascination as he watched the ground below. Every so often, he would take a deep breath and then let it drift away, his chest rising and the falling with some unknown sort of rhythm.

And then, even farther away than him, there was the honey blond. He was small, fitter than he was and maybe a few centimeters taller, but at least close to the same age. He hadn't spoken since the hordes had taken over the bottom level of the warehouse; he'd just retreated to the far corner and closed his eyes, his breathing eventually deepening and taking on a controlled sort of appearance. Zexion could tell that he wasn't asleep though, despite the way he looked. He'd pretended to be asleep before sometimes, when his parents were fighting and he couldn't listen to his mother's excuses anymore. He knew exactly what it looked like on a person.

Not that it mattered. None of those kinds of things really mattered anymore.

Biting at his lower lip, he let his forehead fall, hair cascading in front of him, eyes falling into his lap, pupils dilating from the added darkness. It felt stupid now, silly thinking about all the little things that used to happen. All the little things that used to make up his life. They didn't have a purpose anymore, not in this new world where no one was safe and nothing followed a routine. The money his family never really had no longer had a purpose. The empty promises and the court system were a thing of the past. He was still Zexion Snow, but he was no longer a kid trying to get away from the slums of Hollow Bastion. He was no longer the star of the track team. He was no longer the kid that everyone whispered about in the hallways.

Now, he was just Zexion Snow, another survivor trying to make it to another day. It's funny how the world works sometimes. Some people can never catch a break.

He felt a little push at his toes, the vibration of movement on splintered old wood racking his body minutely. Exhaling through his nose, he lifted his head, eyes met with sea-foam pools and the smile of chapped lips, dirty blond hair a mess, swished slightly to the side like a premature cowlick. "You should take your shoes off."

Zexion's mouth quirked a bit at that, the tips turning downward and taking in the way the boy before him spoke with such seriousness. "Why?" His brows scrunched beneath his hair, his body tensing as Demyx reached to begin untying his shoes.

"Your feet will feel better if you take them off for a little while," he mumbled, not bothering to wait for an answer, already pulling at the one entrapping his right foot, his slim ankle peeking out above the stark white bandages.

"Okay." And he really didn't feel the need to answer, since Demyx was already moving ahead without his permission anyway, but he wanted to because he needed to. He needed to at least pretend that he had some form of control.

Slowly, he began untying the shoe on his left foot, the right one already completely off by now and pushed off to Demyx's side. The blond was smiling at him, bottom lip held close to his teeth, but he didn't feel the need to smile back. Instead, he simply removed the shoe and shuffled back into his previous position, knees to his chin, hair shielding his face.

And that's when he noticed it. The deafening silence permeating the stale air.

His head tilted to the side, silver tinted hair sliding over his gaunt cheeks as he let those deep blue eyes look out onto the warehouse floor for the second time, bottom lip held too tightly between two rows of pearly teeth, afraid of what he might see. To his surprise, there was nothing. There were crates still littering his vision— some turned over, some not— but _they_ were gone. He could see shadows in places, gnarled at odd angles, bodies of the infected that were torn apart, destroyed and left by the others, their stench still wafting up against the rafters. But there was _nothing_. There was no movement down below.

"They do that sometimes." His head snapped forward, eyes staring straight. The blond was moving, stretching away from the far corner and coming closer to the center of the platform, moving stealthily in the near darkness. "They come when there's a lot of noise. They leave when it stops."

Axel reared up at that, body turning away from the rusted security bars, eyes blazing. "Then why the hell did you make all that noise in the first place if you knew what was gonna happen," he hissed, crawling forward in just the slightest way.

And instead of fighting back, the blond just shrugged his shoulders, the shadowy figures of his fingers searching the ground for his abandoned camouflage blanket. "I thought they'd left."

The redhead was at a loss for words, mouth falling open in disbelief. "You thought they'd just _left_."

Icy blue eyes regarded him minimally before turning away. "Yup," he shrugged again, voice nonchalant, sharp and to the point. "I haven't seen them in days. I just figured that they'd moved on, went searching for more food, you know?" He made an enlightened little noise, finally finding his missing article and pulling it around him to fight off the growing chill in the air. Twilight Town was notorious for having a rather mild climate, but things were different this year. There was nothing to protect them from the elements— and the world was such a harsher place.

Axel groaned, running his skeletal hands through his knotted red hair, trying in vain to ease the knot in his chest. After several minutes of silence, he finally let out a sigh, "Who are you?"

The blond snorted, a derisive sort of noise coming out. "That's not how this works, man."

"What do you mean that's not how this works? We st—"

Zexion cleared his throat, coughing at the soreness as he pushed his hair away from his face, blue eyes regarding them with something like calculated boredom. Axel looked like he was ready to fight again, body tensed and angry, but the blond looked rather unimpressed by it all, annoyance shining in his eyes, a dark red streak dried to his forehead and cheek as a remnant of the fight from before. Demyx was beside him, seemingly just taking it all in without much to say. He vaguely wondered if maybe he had the right idea before he spoke, voice something like a whisper in the heavy air, "He means that we're on his turf. We're the intruders. He gets to call the shots."

"Now, you, I like already." Blue eyes glanced his way for just a split second, before resting on Axel's still rather prone form. "So, with that out of the way, who the hell are you guys?"

"Travelers," the redhead snapped. "Just a group of fuckin' travelers."

One honey colored eyebrow rose, thin arms crossing defiantly. "I can cut that rope ladder and still get down without breaking my neck, can you?"

Emerald and cool blue met for just a moment, both a little angry and a little disenchanted. And then, suddenly, Axel laughed, great puffs of air escaping his throat as he doubled over, grabbing at his gut. The blond glanced at the others, noticing the way that Zexion refused to meet his eyes and the other— Dem? Demyx? — couldn't seem to look away, mouth pulled to mirror something like concern.

"You," the redhead pointed at him once he'd managed to catch his breath, one spindly finger lessening the space between them, "are vicious."

The blond scoffed again, humorously this time as he leaned away, weight resting against his palms. He supposed that holding a knife to someone's throat, spitting in their face, and then threatening to strand them could count as vicious— he was fairly certain he could live with that. "I try."

Axel let his hand fall, flopping into his lap with a resigned thump. He didn't trust this kid like he trusted Demyx and Reno and nearly everyone else, but… he would admit that he wasn't that bad. "Fine. The name's Axel. A-X-E-L, got it memorized?" The blond's head tilted to the side, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he just watched as Axel smirked, cocking one thumb to the side to point at his two companions. "The blond is Demyx. The skeleton is Zexion."

"Skeletons are dead," the person in question mumbled under his breath, vaguely offended, letting his cheek rest against his knees as Demyx sent him an apologetic sort of smile. And he wasn't dead. Really. He really wasn't dead.

The other two didn't seem to register the comment.

"Roxas. Roxas Strife. Blond, not a skeleton, and yes, I do have it memorized," he— Roxas— rolled his eyes, still leaning back against his palms. They were a different sort of group. Axel was obviously the vocal one. He was the one who the others listened to. But not completely. He spoke to Demyx differently than he did Zexion. When he was in trouble before, Demyx may have been the one with the gun, but it was obvious that Zexion was the more cool-headed one, yet he still spoke directly to Demyx. He was more involved with him, more invested. He trusted him. He took his pack to make sure he made it to the platform; he always made sure that he was kept in the safest position, like when they'd come into the warehouse before and Axel was the one who went first, even though Demyx had the weapon. Demyx was the one that he was going to keep safe.

He was different with Zexion.

While he was obviously overprotective with Demyx, he barely paid the other any concern at all. It was like Zexion was an expendable piece of property to him. It was obvious that he wasn't originally with them, even just by looking at them. Axel and Demyx looked haggard, yes, but they still looked healthy. Their clothes were dirty, but still in good condition. Their backpacks were the same. Zexion wasn't like that. For one thing, he was thinner, so much thinner, bones sticking out through his clothes. And he was obviously worse off, his bag and attire in much worse condition, ill-fitting and tattered with holes, his body bruised and bandaged.

If anything, it looked like he and the others came from two entirely different worlds.

It was no wonder that Axel treated him so differently. He wasn't concerned for him because he felt no need to be. He didn't _know _him. If Roxas had to guess, he would say that they randomly met and decided to stay together— the old safety in numbers rule being the only reason for them to do so. And as harsh as it was, he could understand it. He'd seen the damage the infected could do. It was hard enough looking out for yourself. Axel was obviously already worried with Demyx. He couldn't add anyone else to that.

Roxas lolled his head back, letting his eyes search out the moon through the skylight above.

Real life really wasn't anything like the movies.

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><p><strong>AN: Look! It's a wild Roxas! ^_^**

**Anyway, I'm starting to get more of a feel for the characters. Demyx was really more of a throwaway in this chapter, but he'll get more screen time later. **

**For this chapter, I really wanted to focus on Axel. He hasn't been coming across in the way that I've wanted him to, so I decided to add the scene between him and Reno to show that he's not entirely heartless. I also wanted to get a little more of his selfless side thrown in there and give him a chance to come off a little differently.**

**Roxas was fun to throw into this chapter as well. I wasn't sure how well I would do writing his character, but I'm not displeased with the product. He has some growing room, and hopefully I'll be able to shed some more light onto that in later chapters. **

**And Zexion did get a little bit of a voice in this chapter. Not as much as he could have, but he hasn't been cooperating with me lately. I'll work on that. **

**Production: Quicker. I should be starting the next chapter soon. **

**Question: How do you feel about Axel? Do you like his character, hate him, or are you indifferent to him? Do you feel like you have a better understanding of him after this chapter? **

**And while you're at it, how do you feel about the recent site updates? **

**Quiz Winners: Shadow of a Fallen Angel and XxJewelxX. Many virtual cookies for you! **

**Quiz Answer: Roxas. He was first featured in _Another Side, Another Story_ and his three counterparts include Xion, Sora, and Ventus. **

**New Quiz: Hesitation can be fatal. Who hesitates next chapter?**

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). ^_^**


	5. Hesitation

**This chapter is the devil. And it is long and endless and my fingers will never be the same.**

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle…_**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. I just hope I don't disappoint you guys! **

**Also, this chapter is not betaed. All mistakes are my own. If you find anything, please let me know. I'll fix them as best as I can.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p><strong>November 8, 2011<strong>

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><p>"<em>I want the blue crayon," she demanded, sticking out her little hand, palm up in the air. Before her, her older brother sat, happily coloring his own picture, dirty blond hair falling in his face and shadowing his sea-foam eyes. And that would have all been perfectly fine. Demyx could color at her coloring table with her if he wanted to. Honestly, she liked it when he did. But not right now because he had the blue crayon and it was <em>_**obviously**__ hers. She wanted it after all. _

_The boy in question tilted his head to the side a bit, biting at his lower lip. "Mommy said we had to share them," he mumbled, still coloring. _

_She huffed, tapping her chubby foot against the floor like the angry wives in the movies always did. She understood that they had to share them, but mommy wasn't around at the moment and they were __**her **__crayons. "I want the blue one." Her hand moved a little closer, her body balanced by her tip-toes as she tried to get as close to him as possible, leaning against her multicolored table. "Give it."_

"_But, Nami, I'm not finished with it yet." And he did sound really apologetic when he said it, looking at her honestly, those eyes of his so wide. "You can have it when I'm done." _

_She didn't like that very much._

_She screamed, balling up her fists and banging them against the table, stomping her feet on the ground, her round face reddening. Her brother's eyes balked, just watching her with his lip between his teeth. And then, suddenly, the nanny was coming down the hall, just as curly haired and as cruel eyed as she always was, dolled up in one of her fancy dresses. _

"_What on earth is going on in here," she squawked as she came towards them, taking in the scene, Demyx sitting guiltily at the table, her still pitching her little tantrum. _

"_I__—,__" Demyx started, but she cut him off with the wave of one of her bony hands, those long nails of hers making him lean away. _

_Slowly, she bent down to her level, putting her hands on her knees, the long purple fabric of her dress billowing around her. "Now, Namin__é__, why are you so upset, dear?" _

_And Namin__é__ didn't really like her nanny because she wasn't very nice and she was always trying to dress her up, but she always listened to her over Demyx. She never let him tell her his side of anything. Namin__é__ could say anything she wanted and the nanny would believe her; she always did. _

_With her oceanic eyes, she peeked around the nanny at her brother, examining the pleading look in his eyes in her very three-year-old way. It didn't matter. She wanted that crayon. _

"_Demy stole my crayon and he wouldn't give it back!" She started bawling, staring up at the nanny, blonde hair falling against her cheeks. _

_The nanny's jaw tightened, that curly hair of hers bobbing against her as she patted one of Namin__é__'s rosy little cheeks. "There, there, dear. Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'll make it all better," she purred before standing, turning her back on the bawling little girl and grabbing the hand of her oldest charge perhaps a little too tightly. "Come along. It seems that someone needs to spend a little time in the Time Out Corner." _

"_No, no, I didn't do it! I didn't steal it, I promise! I was gonna give it back! Please, please, please! She can have the crayon," he begged as their shared nanny started dragging him away, tugging with all his might to get her to let go because he didn't like time out. It was sad and lonely and dark and she always forgot to come let him out. He didn't want to go. "Namin__é__, tell her the truth! I didn't do it! She's lying! She's lying!"_

_The nanny shook him, those nails of hers grabbing at his chin. "Now, you should be ashamed of yourself, calling your sweet little sister a liar." Demyx gulped, lips quivering, sincerely crying now. "You'll just have to think of an apology while you're in time out, won't you?"_

_And just like that, she dragged him away, him kicking and screaming and pleading all the while. _

_As soon as she was sure they were gone, Namin__é__ wiped her eyes, crawling up to sit in her brother's spot at the table so she could better reach her box of crayons. Because they were __**her **__crayons. Demyx should have given it back when she'd told him to__—__ that's all there was to it. _

_Nodding to herself, she picked up the dropped blue crayon that she wanted so much. But just as she was about to grab herself a brand new piece of drawing paper, she saw it. The picture Demyx had been drawing before he'd been dragged away. It was a little rumpled from where it must have been brushed against, but she had to admit that it was still a rather pretty thing. It was of a little girl with a cute little sundress and blonde hair. She was outside, sitting in the grass. Maybe she was sleeping? No, no, no. She could see her eyes. They were an oceanic blue._

_She stopped, letting the crayon roll out from between her tiny fingers. And this time, she really did cry. _

_Because he'd been drawing a picture of her. _

Naminé sprung upright, blue eyes wide, tears falling down her cheeks, breath coming in labored pants. She had never apologized for that. He never really brought it up after it happened and she never lied to the nanny again, but she hadn't apologized. She never told him she was sorry for hurting him like that. She never told him she was sorry for lying. And she never told him how much she loved him for drawing her that picture.

He could be dead right now and she'd never _told_ him.

She took a deep breath, letting it shake and quiver with her tears even as she tried to wipe them away with the back of her hands. How could she have done that to him? Demyx had always been so sweet and wonderful to her. He always let her win everything, have everything she could ever want. And she'd just forgotten? She'd forgotten all about being such a nasty, selfish, little girl? What if she never got the chance to say she was sorry? What if she never saw him again?

With that thought in mind, she brought herself upright, trying to ignore the way the government issued blankets scratched at her skin, her stark white night shirt crinkling around her knobby knees. Very carefully, she tip-toed away, smiling a little at the way that Kairi managed to sleep through anything, her redheaded body still happily curled beneath the covers— Naminé just hoped she had sweeter dreams than she did. The smile didn't last for very long. All it took was one look around her for the corners of her mouth to begin to droop.

When she'd been told that her class was taking a trip to Destiny Islands, she'd been ecstatic about it. Her entire class was going to be staying in one of the main island's many five star resort locations. Kairi was going to be her roommate and daily partner. They were going to lay out on the beach, go shopping, maybe meet some boys, and then, they were going to go home, where Kairi had her parents and she had Demyx. They weren't supposed to get stuck here, moved to the main island's high school gym with every other tourist, all pushed together like sardines in a can, government issued materials and meals shoved at them daily. That wasn't how it was supposed to go.

But she wasn't going to complain. She'd heard some people doing so, running their mouths off about this and that, and it was sickening to listen to. They were here and they were squished like sardines in a can, but they were safe. That was more than she could say for the mainland. That was more than she could say for Demyx. And she'd deal with worse. She would deal with so much worse if it meant that Demyx could be there with her.

She would do _anything _just to have him there.

Naminé scoffed a bit at herself for even thinking like that, pushing her blonde hair away from her face, her fingers running through the knots as she maneuvered around the people who were still sleeping along the gym floor. She didn't linger for very long to look at their faces. She had done that for the first few days, but now that she had been here for such a long time, she didn't want to anymore. They all looked the same, varying degrees of sadness and anger lighting up their eyes, desolation and pain pulling at their faces. It didn't do her any good to see her own face mirrored back at her, so she simply ignored them now, moving passed them as quickly as she could to reach the gym doors.

And she did, sliding through them as quietly as she could, letting the cold ocean air hit at her face as soon as she made it through. She lingered for a moment with her back against the doors, the chill seeping into her skin. She wondered sometimes in moments like these if Demyx ever thought about her, if he even _could_. She liked to think that he did sometimes, that he was still alive enough to think about her. She just hoped above anything else that he was putting himself first. He didn't do that nearly enough.

It was one of the things she loved most about him.

Her pretty blue eyes moistened again, thinking of the dream and every other moment she'd ever been such a brat to him. She wasn't a bad sister, really. She knew she wasn't. But Demyx wasn't a normal brother. He was perfect. He would do anything for her without a complaint. And she loved him so, so much more than anyone else in the world. She just needed to tell him that. Somehow, someway, she needed to make sure he knew that he was the most perfect person she'd ever met and that she loved him more than life itself. She needed him to be okay, because if he wasn't, she'd just break.

She shook her head, baby-fine blonde hairs slapping at her cheeks in the process, her palms pushing the rest of her frame away from the doors and closer to the ocean, her body automatically following the well-worn path. It didn't take her long to come upon the little road that led toward the docks, her bare feet skipping from one side to the other in an effort to keep off the rocks, little cuts already appearing around her heels. She didn't really care. A little more hurt wouldn't change anything.

Suddenly, she stopped, just as her feet would have transitioned from sand and gravel to carefully maintained wooden planks. There were already people sitting at the end, their feet hanging over the side where the water darkened, one of them leaning into the other, their shoulders shaking with what looked like barely repressed sobs.

And Naminé couldn't help but think that maybe they were missing someone too.

"You can keep coming if you want to." She jolted a bit as one of them spoke to her, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment at being caught snooping on such a personal moment. "Really. We don't bite."

Hesitantly, Naminé smiled, padding across the dock to awkwardly sit beside the two with her slim ankles dangling precariously above the water. She couldn't help but take in their appearances through the corner of her oceanic blue eyes. They were both boys that were around her age, one with long silver hair and the other with rather odd brown spikes. The brunet was the one who had been crying, his big blue eyes still red around the edges, his body still leaning against the other.

And maybe she was being silly and ridiculous, but she felt like she had to say something. She felt like she had to say something because this person she didn't know was obviously hurting and Demyx would have wanted her to make him feel better. So, with her eyes scanning the ocean before her, taking in the way the water sparkled the same as it did the first day she was there— long before everything had gotten so messed up, Naminé spoke, voice heavy and sad, "My brother's still on the mainland. I don't know if he's okay."

Then, just like that, there was a hand squeezing at hers, just the slightest bit of pressure pressing at her palms, curling at her fingers. "Mine too."

Blue locked with blue for just one moment, all the pain and loneliness of losing a sibling transferring between the two of them. And then, they were silent, those sets of blue eyes turning back towards the endless ocean, hoping with everything they had that somehow their family was okay, waiting somewhere on the other side.

They didn't dare let go.

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><p>He awoke to voices, muffled and distant as they filtered through his sleeping bag. He couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but they were tense, two voices spitting back and forth rapidly, hushed in the cool morning air. Every once in a while, something would shuffle across the wood, like a person being pushed back and forth, feet sliding against splinters. For a moment, he tried to ignore it, to will it all away and slip back into dreamland, but just as he was beginning to drift away again, they got louder. Angrier, like what was originally an argument was about to turn into a fight.<p>

He didn't think they needed that.

Slowly, he rose, letting the hood of his sleeping bag fall to rest against his neck as he balanced himself on his elbows, face held just the barest few inches away from the safety of the downy material below. The two voices— quickly recognized as Axel and Roxas with little surprise— were still hissing at one another, apparently something about _groups _and _supplies_ and _leaving_. He sighed, not really caring to understand it at the moment, dirty blond hair billowing a bit as he shifted, turning within his cocoon to rest against his back, sitting up in just the slightest way with his palms baring the majority of his weight.

He saw Zexion first. He was leaning against the platform's rails, body positioned with his pointy chin resting against his knobby knees. He was still wrapped in his blankets, the old things pulled tight against him, probably trying to preserve as much heat as possible. Beneath them, Demyx could just barely see a hint of bandages peeking out, little toes curling a bit from the cold. His body was so still that he nearly thought he was asleep, but one look at his face buried that thought before he could even let it process. His head was tilted slightly to the side, hair curtaining the majority of his slender face, blue eyes meeting with his for the barest moment before shifting away to watch the commotion on the other side of the platform. Demyx blinked, shivering at the desolate look in those piercing eyes, sea-foam pools following the deep blue pair to observe their other companions.

They had stopped speaking for the moment, bodies both standing upright, muscles tensed, breath coming quickly through their noses. The two of them seemed oblivious to everything other than each other, blue and emerald meeting head on. They hadn't noticed that he was awake; he doubted they even knew that Zexion was and apparently had been for quite a while. But Axel had always been like that. He had always focused so completely on one thing that it was impossible for him to divert his attention, a one track mind if there ever was one. Roxas, though he didn't really know him at all, seemed to be the exact same way. And if their body language was anything to go by, it seemed that Roxas was used to getting his way.

Suddenly, the noise crackling through the air, the blond in question spoke, body just as rigid and tense as it ever had been before. "I don't know why you're being so stupid about this."

Axel bowed upwards, shoulders squaring, fingers knotting together to form a tightly ground fist. "_Stupid_," he let out, snarling incredulously like the word itself had defied all rational meaning. "You think that I'm being _stupid_ about making sure we _survive_." It wasn't a question or a statement, really, more of a demand to no one passing through his thin lips.

"Yes," Roxas scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest like a barrier, "I think you're being fucking _stupid_." The redhead sucked in a breath at that, coming a little closer. The blond just watched him, icy blue eyes anything but weary as he continued. "The best way to keep everyone alive is to stick together. Numbers, Axel. Get it through your thick skull." To accentuate his point, he tapped one lithe little finger to his own head, flicking blond spikes.

"No." The word was final, quick and precise. "We can't keep up with anyone else."

The smaller of the two just huffed, blue eyes rolling like Axel was repeating himself and he'd simply had enough. "You're looking at this the wrong way and you know it. You wouldn't be _keeping up _with me," he quoted with his fingers, weight shifting a little to the side. "I can take care of myself, but I am not going out there on my own. That's not safe and I'm not an idiot."

"Then find someone else. We're maxed out." Emerald eyes narrowed, but their owner's body seemed to relax a bit, resting a little more easily against the splintered wood of the platform.

The blond growled a bit, low in his throat, an exasperated little noise leaking out as his fingers frantically ran through his hair, his own body relaxing a bit in response. "Look, I get that you don't really want to add another person to the mix. Trust me, I get it. We're not exactly in a position to get close to people, and I know how bad it is to watch someone you know get taken away by those things, okay? I _know_. I'm not asking you to share supplies or slow down or make exceptions; I'm just asking to tag along until I find something better to do. That's it. End of story. It's safer for me and whether you want to admit it or not, it's safer for you too. The more people you have, the better your odds."

Axel's jaw clenched and unclenched, body slumping in a way, almost deflating as his knotted red hair fell against his lean face. "Fine. Just don't expect anything." And even though the words were a little harsh and ground out through gritted teeth, there was an acceptance in them, an understanding that now wasn't the time to be alone, that maybe Roxas had been right all along.

Carefully, the blond smiled, a tiny little thing that barely touched the corners of his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it."

And then, just like that, they broke away from each other, Roxas finding his way back to his little nook where all of his things seemed to be stacked, Axel turning on his heel and leaning over the railing, seemingly just as entranced by the warehouse floor as he was the night before. Demyx sighed, lowering himself back into the pit of his sleeping bag, eyes trained on the sun's light that was just beginning to peek through the old skylight.

It seemed that Axel really hadn't been budging much. And honestly, he understood why he was acting in such a way. They were being hunted and chased down by rotting human beings. They had no idea where was safe, where they needed to go, or how to get there. They were in the middle of something that no one fully understood. They weren't safe and whatever little bit of safety they did have had to be maintained. But that didn't mean that all of this was perfectly okay. The redhead was just being cautious and protective. It made sense given the situation, but… weren't they better off— safer— if they relied on someone else every once in a while?

And Demyx trusted Axel. Really. He trusted Axel with everything he ever had, but that didn't mean that he was okay with losing himself to their circumstances. He was human and he couldn't just shut out his feelings for the sake of something else. If it was a matter of life and death, maybe he could change a little, but he wouldn't forsake someone else to do it. Axel wanted to keep the two of them safe. He wanted to make sure that he made it back to Naminé and that they got through this as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Demyx wanted that too. He wanted all of that and more, but if someone else needed him here, he wasn't going to just leave them. He couldn't— wouldn't— do that.

He wasn't a monster yet. He had no need to act like one.

"Is that a radio?" The dirty blond jumped a bit at the voice, even though Zexion, as he deduced with a glance, hadn't really moved from his previous position. The other two seemed just as surprised as he was to hear him speak, Axel glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Roxas' spikey blond head tilting to the side questioningly.

After a moment, the blond followed his gaze, icy blue eyes landing on the radio in question, a broken old thing that he'd found while scavenging nearly a week ago. "Yeah. It doesn't work though."

Zexion's mouth quirked a bit to the side, the movement hidden beneath his silvery blue fringe. "Could I see it?"

Roxas looked at him curiously, eyes squinting as his blond brows furrowed. Suddenly, as if deeming the request appropriate, he shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Nodding a little as if to himself, Zexion stood, letting his blankets fall to rest against the wooden planks. Carefully, he made his way across the platform, bandaged feet sending needle pricks up his spine as he padded across Demyx's sleeping bag and skirted around the still standing redhead, taking his place amongst Roxas' belongings to grab the radio between his damaged fingers. They shook a bit as he took hold of its weight, but they held it tightly as he sunk to the ground once again, curling with the old electronic held in front of him.

It was an old thing. He couldn't place the exact year it was made, but he would be willing to guess that it was some fifteen years or so ago. Its dials were large across its face, buttons missing their symbols— probably worn off after years of use. There was rust in places, scratchy along the speakers, and wood in others, grainy and thick. It didn't look perfect or new in any way, but it was obviously well maintained. Very, very well maintained.

"What's so important about that thing," Axel asked, taking a step closer with his arms crossed against his chest, curious but cautious. "He said it doesn't work."

Slim fingers danced along the dials. "These radios have to be handled properly in order to work. The bookstore where I work— worked— had one," he coughed in to his palm, voice sliding easily between his lips. "If you didn't press the right buttons in just the right way, then it wouldn't come on at all."

"Do you think this one is like that?" Deep blue eyes glanced upwards, Demyx's voice ringing in his ears. The other three were crowding him now, watching as his fingertips slid along the radio's front. He didn't like that very much, being crowded, contained. Subconsciously, he shuffled backwards, spinal column jostling as he collided with the warehouse wall. The others didn't seem to take notice.

"Maybe," he swallowed thickly, eyes watching them. "It's hard to really tell."

Deftly, just like he was back in that bookstore sitting precariously on one of the stools as he fiddled with the knobs, his fingers moved, sliding over the buttons that had lost their symbols. Once he finished, nothing happened for a moment, the radio staying silent as they all watched it, eyes staring into the speakers as if they held all the answers.

And suddenly, there was a noise across the airwaves, crackling and crinkling as the radio sputtered.

Zexion couldn't help but smile genuinely, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards, his eyes lighting up in just the slightest way. And Demyx couldn't help but enjoy the change. Desolation never looked good on anyone.

"Can you switch the channels? Turn it, I mean," Roxas asked from by his shoulder, dropping to his knees to sit beside the bandaged boy before them. Zexion slid a little farther away, that wonderful little smile slipping from his lips, but he nodded at the question, cautiously turning one of the dials.

At first, there was nothing but static moving across the airwaves, assaulting the old radio's speakers. But then, there was a voice, muffled and shallow. Zexion's deep blue eyes narrowed, the other's leaning closer as if to listen. Bandaged fingertips turned the dial a little farther to the right, the voice getting louder and louder.

They all held their ears as the emergency alert rang, blaring through the rusted speakers.

"_Attention, survivors. This is a transmission from Destiny Islands. If you can hear this message and are still on the mainland, please remain calm. We are sending help. On—"_ The radio buzzed with static, the voice lost amongst the chaos. _"— officials will be meeting at the City of Departure to escort the uninfected to the safety of the Islands. All infected peoples will be removed on sight. I repeat, we will be coming to the City of Departure to escort the uninfected to safety. There is a limited amount of space; we will only be coming once. Please remain calm until we can—"_

"—_virus. There is no antidote at this time. All survivors should take due caution. The symptoms are not immediate. I repeat, the symptoms are not immediate. The spread can take up to two days before total loss of control. All peoples must be careful. Watch for any contact with the infected. Do not allow yourself to come into contact with them. They are highly contagious. They are extremely dangerous. All—"_

The radio sputtered, static fuzzing against the speakers before it died, a sharp popping sound following it. Zexion doubted that it would be coming back on no matter how much fiddling he managed.

"They're coming to the City of Departure," Roxas mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, body bent forward to hover over the radio in just the slightest way. "That's a long walk."

Suddenly, Axel grinned, a feral sort of thing that turned up his lips and lightened his eyes. "Then I guess we'd better get started."

* * *

><p>"Would you like some help with that?"<p>

Zexion jumped, startled, the spool of bandages slipping through his damaged fingers and rolling along the warehouse's cement floor. He swallowed thickly, deep blue eyes watching it meet with the toe of a rather dusty pair of high tops, their strings torn, hanging precariously about. The shoe's owner bent to pick it up, cradling it carefully, calloused thumbs working to brush off the dirt that had stuck during its short trek. "I can manage on my own."

"That doesn't really answer the question," Demyx smiled, sheepishly rubbing at his neck, dirty blond hair swaying a little as he did so. And though he took a step closer, he made no move to return the roll.

"No," he held his arm out, gnarled fingers extend towards him, hair shielding half of his face, "I would not like any help."

Sea-foam eyes watched him for a moment, their owner's smile drooping a bit, dirty blond hair seemingly sagging with disappointment. He still didn't return the bandages, keeping them secured between his fingers, turning the roll carefully as if he was trying to decide what he should say in such a situation. Finally, he sighed, eyes raking over him thoughtfully. "Do you always do that?"

The boy in question pulled his extended hand back, letting it curl along his stomach, eyes narrowing minutely. He didn't appreciate being questioned at the best of times, and he appreciated it even less from a stranger like Demyx. "What exactly do you mean?"

A chapped lip locked between sharp teeth, sea-foam eyes looking a little uncertain. "Do you always just dismiss people?"

Zexion's back stiffened, his body straightening, fingers knotting together against his gut. He honestly didn't know how to answer that question. And really, he shouldn't have to. He shouldn't have to answer because Demyx really had no right to ask, but it was unsettling, not being able to answer a question about one's self. Before all of this happened, before the incident, he wouldn't have hesitated to answer one way or the other because he would have been sure. But now, he honestly didn't know.

He didn't really know himself at all anymore.

So, he answered as honestly as he could, eyes cast downwards, voice quietly directed towards his unprotected feet, skinny little toes curling. "I don't really know."

Demyx took a step closer at that, feeling a sharp pang in his chest. He wanted to take his question back. He wanted to erase the words from existence. He shouldn't have said anything in the first place— he'd known that before he'd even asked. He had no right to question anyone. And… the way Zexion's face fell as soon as he'd asked, the way he looked to be curling into himself, it was just sad. He looked like a child that didn't know what he was doing, all thin bones and bruises. He looked like he was trying to put up a brave front, trying to hide all the vulnerability that made him human.

He looked lost and scared and _why did he say anything?_

Cautiously, he stepped forward, circling to stand directly before him. Zexion watched him warily, but didn't say anything when he bent to grab one of his dainty feet, resting the sole of if against his thigh, the rough fabric of his jeans holding it in place. "Well," he started, swallowing, meeting those untrusting blue eyes with his own nervous pair, "I think it's better not to be. Dismissive, I mean. I know people aren't always as nice as they should be and that people get hurt all the time for getting involved with the wrong kind of people, but… aren't we all better off if we lean on each other every once in a while? It's not— I think it just ends up with you hurt in the end. Lonely, you know?"

He smiled carefully, keeping his eyes trained on Zexion as he let his fingers skim across the boy's foot, the protruding bones rising against his hold. He hadn't moved at all, eyes still watching him through a curtain of slate hair. Demyx sighed, grimacing a bit, his chapped lips twisting into the barest hint of a frown. "Sorry. It's not really—," he huffed, cutting himself off and letting Zexion's foot drop back down to rest against the other. "No. It isn't my place to say anything." Nodding to himself, the blond backed away, holding his hands up in something like surrender, the roll of bandages placed gently a few inches from Zexion's bony hip, sea-like eyes apologetic in every sense of the word. "I'll let you get back to what you were doing."

And dark blue eyes couldn't help but glance at the nasty cuts that graced his hands and feet, barely healing even after several days of protection from the elements. He didn't trust Demyx. He didn't know him and if something were to happen to him, he was sure that he would be able to move on from it easily. They weren't friends, and it wasn't like he had any reason to listen to anything he said anyway. But… it didn't really seem right to leave things as they were. He doubted that Demyx would think any less of him if he just let him walk away— he simply didn't seem like that kind of person— but he did owe him something, didn't he? Demyx was probably the only reason he was still alive at all. Axel wanted to just leave him, but Demyx hadn't let that happen. He'd risked his own safety, lied to his friend, and hadn't asked for anything in return.

He could at least give him this.

"I wouldn't mind," he spoke up quickly, voice rising a little in his haste to get the words out. The blond stopped in his tracks, turning back toward him with his head tilted slightly to the side questioningly. "Help with the bandages, I mean. If you don't mind." He held the bandages out like a peace offering, scratched and bruised fingers holding as tightly as they could.

The blond watched him for a moment, as if wondering if he was going to change his mind, but then he smiled, a genuine kind of thing that pulled at his lips and lit up his eyes, and came back, moving into that same position he was in before. "I really don't mind."

And just like that, Zexion's foot was once again resting against the rough material of Demyx's jeans, the muscles in his leg protesting a little as he tried to let it hover in the air. The blond didn't really say much once he was situated. Instead, he lathered his hands with the disinfecting ointment found at the old shop, carefully rubbing it across his many cuts, being watchful to keep it off the leg of his pants. Once he finished covering his first foot, he let that one fall, hanging limply above the warehouse floor, and grabbed the next, giving it the same treatment.

It was a strange feeling for Zexion. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, honestly. The ointment burned as it seeped into his cuts and the cool November air pressed rather insistently against his toes, sending shivers up and down his spine, but he didn't hate the feeling of Demyx's calloused fingers sliding along his burning skin. It wasn't so much that it was Demyx and it wasn't so much the feeling of those rough fingers. It was just that it had been such a long time since someone had cared enough to help him with anything.

His mother had tried. Honestly, she had really tried, but lately, after everything had happened, he was on his own. She still did the job of a mother, but she didn't really care for him anymore. She didn't kiss his bruises like she did when he was a child; she didn't try to cheer him up when he was sad or when he was hurt. As far as he could remember, the paramedics at the hospital were the last people that even pretended to care.

A button nose scrunched, blue eyes narrowing in just the slightest way. That certainly did bring up an interesting question. His mother was his mother. She was supposed to care for him. He understood why she stopped— better than anyone could ever imagine. The paramedics had cared for him because he was just a child, scared and bleeding, and it was their job to make sure he was okay.

But Demyx, Demyx was an oddity. He had no obligation to care for him at all. If nothing else, he should dislike him. It wasn't like he had been particularly nice or open since they'd met. Yet, here he was, dutifully wrapping his feet in bandages as he sat on one of the warehouse's many crates. It was odd, and he didn't like the funny feeling that shot through his chest.

No one did something for no reason. People always wanted something in return.

His slate brows furrowed a bit beneath his hair, those blue eyes of his still trained on Demyx as he worked, wrapping the last of the bandages around his second foot, securing it tightly. He cautiously moved on to his hands, warily pulling one away from Zexion's stomach and giving it the same treatment, those calloused fingers of his gently working in between his slender digits, coating them as well as his palm with the burning ointment. He wrapped the bandages with the same care, spinning them around and around his hand as carefully as he could. And Zexion just didn't understand it. He couldn't.

"Why?"

Demyx glanced up at him, hesitating for just a second as he went to grab his other hand. His brows were carefully furrowed, small wrinkles appearing on his forehead. "What do you mean," he asked questioningly, voice a little unsure, a little uncertain, as he began rubbing the salve into the bruised and broken skin of his other hand.

"Why bother with me," he replied, leaning his face just the slightest bit away, taking in the widening eyes of the larger boy before him. "You don't know me, and it isn't like I can give you anything in return."

The hands surrounding his own tightened almost painfully, the blond's face contorting into something like shock, those sea-foam eyes wide in their sockets. "I don't want anything from you."

And it was spoken so sincerely that Zexion nearly believed him. "Everyone wants something. Money, sex, anything. There's always going to be something."

The other stopped his ministrations, eyes narrowing in a way that was almost angry. "I'm not like that."

"Then, _why_," Zexion pressed, fingers tensing as Demyx snatched at the roll of bandages and began rolling them along his remaining hand, their scratchy material pulling roughly at his skin.

"I don't kn—"

"That isn't an answer." One bandaged hand came up to roughly push the hair away from his face, a sense of urgency tugging at his movements, his face fully exposed to Demyx's prying eyes.

The blond made an exasperated little noise, tying up the last of the bandage, placing his hands flat on either side of Zexion's jutting hips, eyes narrow and angry, his chapped lips set in a grim line. "I don't know, okay? I just don't know. Maybe you remind me of my little sister. Maybe it's just the human thing to do. But I don't want _anything_. I am _not _like that." He moved forward, trapping the other in place, his voice hard as they nearly came forehead to forehead. They locked eyes for what felt like a century before Zexion turned away, body tensing, breath speeding up against his ribs.

He flinched and Demyx instantly backed away, hands coming up to his mouth, eyes wide, shocked, like he really didn't understand why he just snapped. "I am… I don't even know," he took a deep breath, swallowing thickly through his shaking hands. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I'm just— I'm really not like that. I don't want anything," his voice trailed off into a whisper, his words stretching across the distance between them. He didn't know what to say. He had just snapped; he had never done that before.

Zexion just swallowed and nodded, shaking fingers struggling to pull on his shoes, the torn things barely making it passed his heels before he was carefully sliding to the ground. He stood up straight, with his body leaning against the crate, watching the way that Demyx looked even more surprised than he was, more apologetic than anyone else he'd ever seen. And for some reason, that made him want to laugh. He didn't make sense. Demyx simply didn't make sense. He was apologizing for that? His own father had done nearly the same thing to him before. Only, when his father had him trapped, he didn't stop. He just kept going and going and going and— Demyx had stopped before he'd even really started.

It was funny how the world worked.

"I really didn't—"

"Hey," Roxas circled around the corner of another crate, side stepping over the rotting body smashed against its side— one of the infected from last night. "Axel says we're good to go. You two ready?" His eyes slid back and forth between them, taking in the way Zexion just nodded and Demyx would barely look at him. Whatever. It wasn't his problem. "We're leaving out the back. There's a shortcut that'll take us straight to Olympus."

As he turned on his heel, Zexion hesitated to follow, watching as Demyx stood frozen. Was he really so torn up about getting angry? "Demyx, we need to leave." The blond nodded, stiffly taking a few steps toward their exit, eyes never leaving Zexion's face. The frailer of the two just let his head shift downwards, his hair cascading back into place as he did, sliding over his cheeks and once again shielding his eyes.

He let his fingertips brush against Demyx's as he passed, callouses meeting bandages for just the barest of moments. And Zexion wasn't very good with feelings or people in general, but he hoped that the way those callouses squeezed against his fingers was something like acceptance, an apology and an understanding all in one.

It was the best he could do.

In silence, they met with the others at the back of the warehouse, their bodies loaded down with supplies and dwarfed by the oversized doors that were made for transporting equipment. Roxas barely glanced at them when they walked up, but Axel couldn't help but narrow his emerald eyes suspiciously, taking in the way that Demyx walked, his body slumped, his face cast downwards to examine the toes of his shoes. Zexion didn't seem to be looking at anything.

He crossed his arms tensely, weight shifting to better carry the pack resting against his thin shoulders, red hair falling casually over his high cheekbones. He didn't like the idea of Demyx spending time with Zexion alone. It wasn't that he had anything against him; it was just that there was something off about him, something not quite right— something he hadn't managed to place. Axel didn't trust him, and he didn't think Demyx should either. "Ready? Once we get started, we're not stopping until we get right outside of Olympus, so make sure you conserve energy. Roxas said it's about a six hour walk."

"Depending," Roxas yawned, exhaling into his palm, whitewashed jeans sliding minutely as he adjusted his stance. "The infected were here last night, but I've seen them roaming around during the day too. I'm not sure how many have ventured passed the main roads, but there's no guarantee that we won't see any on our way out of Twilight Town or afterwards."

Axel sighed, narrowed eyes shifting toward the blond. He didn't seem worried at all— prepared and cautious, but not worried. "How long until we're out of Twilight Town?"

"Thirty minutes, tops."

Spindly fingers tightened against forearms, thin lips quirking slightly to the side. "Okay. Roxas, you go out first. Demyx will go next, then Zexion. I'll bring up the rear. If we see anything before we get halfway out of Twilight Town, we'll run back toward the warehouse. At any point after that, we'll run to the outskirts and hope we lose them. Everyone good with that?"

"What are we going to do once we get to Olympus," Zexion asked, deep blue eyes meeting acidic green. "It'll be too late to try to find shelter inside the city and there aren't many dwellings along the outskirts because of the earthquakes a few years ago." He remembered that from school. He'd never had the chance to visit Olympus, but he did remember his teacher talking about how close all the buildings were to the city now because of how costly it was to secure infrastructures along the countryside.

Axel watched him carefully, eying him up and down as if to see if he was lying. Eventually, he sighed, blowing air out through his thin nose. "We'll stay outside. Find a clearing, take turns keeping watch. It's all we can do." He squared his shoulders, pulling himself to his full height. "Anything else?" The others shook their heads. "Awesome. We're losing daylight."

One of the doors creaked, Roxas pulling it open carefully as his newfound companions watched, muscles straining under its weight, rust crumbling along his palm. "Alright," he smiled once he got it open, a faint sea breeze tickling his nose. "We're already close to the shoreline, so all we need to do is slide passed the train station and make it to Market Street. The trail that runs to Olympus connects there, and then all we need to do is go straight."

He took one step onto the sun cracked stones of one of Twilight Town's many roads, and just like that, they were off, worn feet cautiously making their way up the town's paths, eyes roaming the streets for any sign of the infected. But there was nothing. They circled the train station and passed through all of Market Street without a single sighting of the infected, bodies strung together with apprehension with every step.

There was blood smeared across the sidewalks in places, where someone just couldn't get away, but there was no screeching. There were no terrible screams, no claws scratching against the stonework. And there was a smell that fell over the town, a desolate kind of thing that spoke of death and despair, but the putrid smell from before, the one that reeked of rot and blood and sickness, was gone, like it was never there at all.

And it stayed like that for their entire trek, the four of them all pulled together in a line, feet protesting as Twilight Town became a thing of the past, the carefully maintained streets leading to unstable gravel that slid along the bottom of their shoes, threatening to pull them down with every deftly measured step. The sun beat down against their backs as they moved, the cool November air doing little to stop the fatigue, the bags sitting so precariously against their shoulders pulling them down and catching them off balance.

Roxas stayed in front for the entire way, icy blue eyes shifting every once in a while to check behind him, jeans sliding lower and lower on his hips, nimble fingers pulling them back up by the loops every twenty minutes or so. Demyx didn't stay placed behind him like he was supposed to. Instead, he slowed down, a purposeful sort of move that put him only a few steps in front of Axel, the two of them talking lowly back and forth, the redhead faltering every once in a while, a fond sort of familiarity between the two of them. Zexion stayed silent, pushing ahead so that he was nearly even with Roxas, pace quick enough to overtake him if he felt the need, bruised feet and fingers sweating beneath their bandages. His feet hesitated every once in a while, knees and palms hitting the gravel for only a second or two before he was back up with the rest of them.

They reached their destination just as the sun was beginning to go down, dusk lighting the air. Warily, they stopped a little of the trail, bags falling in a lopsided circle as they ate, bland tasting crackers and cold, canned meat sliding down their throats in silence. Axel offered to take the first watch, moving himself a little away from the others as the light from the sun completely faded, the others curling beneath their respective sleeping materials in the hopes of fighting off the cold. It wasn't long before Demyx and Zexion were already out, the dirty blond stretched beneath his sleeping bag, the slate haired youth curled like an embryo to fight away the cold.

But Roxas didn't go straight to sleep. He fidgeted instead, body twisting this way and that in an attempt to find a comfortable position, honey blond hair sticking up in every direction when he finally gave up, sitting up straight and shimmying out from beneath his covers. The moon was high in the sky by this point, the deadened leaves that had been packed together on the ground by the elements shining, Axel's thin frame just barely visible as he leaned against a nearby tree trunk, body folded carefully, eyes turned toward the moon.

For a moment, Roxas just watched him, wondering what it was that kept him going. He didn't know him, just as he didn't know any of the others. He knew why he wanted out of that warehouse; he knew why he had to make it out of this alive. But what about Axel? What made Axel so willing to carry the most supplies, to take the most vulnerable position? It was an anomaly to him. He was obviously focused on surviving, but… he pushed Demyx up the ladder before. He took his bag and he went up last. He would have fallen and died if the rest of them hadn't gotten him up in time. It didn't make sense. Why would someone so focused on living, on getting out of this, be so willing to take that kind of risk?

"Hey," he whispered, voice loud in the silent air as he made his way across the moistened leaves to sit by the redhead, back scraping uncomfortably against the tree's bark, obvious shivers raising the hair along his arms.

Axel looked at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrows elevated carefully. "What are you doing up?"

The blond shrugged, fingers trying unsuccessfully to reshape his hair, one knee coming upward to rest against his chest. "Couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

The redhead turned to stare at him for a moment, but then went back to looking toward the sky. They were silent for a time, the two of them not really looking at each other, not really caring that the other was really there at all. And then, Axel sighed, his breath coming out in a wispy puff of white. "What are you thinking about?"

Roxas glanced at him carefully, eyes trained on the sleeping forms of the others, their bodies barely visible at all with him sitting so far away. He scoffed a little to himself, thinking of how Axel was so hell bent on not getting close to people, yet here he was, willing to talk and initiating it. He almost wanted to laugh. "Things, I guess. What's going to happen when we make it to the City of Departure? What's going to happen if we don't? All the things I still have to live for," he mumbled, chin resting against his raised knee. "What about you? What kind of things do you think about?"

"Living," Axel replied without the slightest hesitation, voice quiet.

The blond huffed a little at that, a sound that wasn't really amused or annoyed. "Do you have anything to live for once this is all over," he asked, carefully watching as Axel's body tensed against the tree, lips set in a thin line. Silence stretched between them, and Roxas couldn't help but let his mind wander, words spilling quietly from his lips. "I have a twin brother. Fraternal. He's thirteen minutes younger than I am," he swallowed thickly, thinking of Christmases at their grandparents, of birthdays that always started earlier than they should, of smiling and laughing and skateboards and rollerblades. "I'm living for him right now. And I'm not going to stop."

"That's a good reason," Axel whispered, red hair falling at his shoulders, too green eyes watching him carefully for just the slightest moment. "I have a brother too. He's years older than me, but we've always been close."

"Hmm," Roxas hummed, smiling sadly, trying to think of someone who could make the person before him speak so tenderly. "Where is he?"

His head fell back, lips curving with something like irony, eyes purposefully looking toward the moon. "Here. He was supposed to be vacationing in Olympus."

Blue eyes dropped a bit at that, freckled face tilting slightly to the side. "Do you want to stop and look for him? I don't think the others would mind."

Axel shook his head, fingers knotting in his lap, voice shaking, "We can't. We still have a long way to go before we make it to the City of Departure and we don't know when Destiny Islands is supposed to be sending help."

"Okay."

And Roxas just looked toward the moon, trying to see anything other than the tears sliding down the redhead's cheeks.

* * *

><p>Teeth collided with teeth, blankets scratching together against the grass, the rustling pulling him from what was a barely maintained dream. And what a wonderful dream it was. He and Naminé had gone skating, their parents watching them carefully from the sideline as they fell against each other and collided with the polished wood floors. He never wanted to wake up.<p>

But he had. That noise bringing him back to the present, the moon still high above them, the deadened leaves still stretched below them. He wasn't skating and this wasn't a dream. So what was it that woke him?

Carefully, he pulled himself away from the comfort of his sleeping bag, the downy material keeping his legs warm as he searched for the source of the noise. It obviously wasn't something threatening, as Axel hadn't been the one to wake him, one glance showing him that the redhead was still keeping watch. Roxas, it seemed, was beside him, his honey blond hair illuminated even in the shadows. So that left Zexion.

Zexion, who was currently twisting beneath his blankets, teeth chattering as he curled.

Oh.

Drowsily, Demyx crawled toward him, shaking his shoulders to get him to wake, the fabric of the blankets doing little to shield his palms from the skeletal arms beneath. Zexion shot upright instantly, breath catching in his throat, deep blue eyes wide and exposed, hair pressed back against his ears, teeth still chattering, clanking together noticeably. He seemed to calm when he noticed that it was just Demyx, his breath evening out, shaking fingers coming up to ruffle his slate colored hair.

The dirty blond just looked at him for a moment, taking in the way his shoulders shook, tensing in the night air. His lips were blue. "Sleep with me."

The other tensed, back straightening, eyes narrowing. "_Excuse me?_"

"You're cold," Demyx stated, yawning behind his hand, seemingly oblivious to the other's incredulous tone. "My sleeping bag is big enough for the two of us."

"I'll be fine," Zexion mumbled, relaxing even as he tensed his jaw to stop its constant chattering.

The blond just shook his head, grabbing Zexion's hand and tugging him forward, snatching up his blankets with his free hand. "Don't be proud. It's for the best for both of us. We'll both be warmer and you won't be waking me up."

Zexion opened his mouth, but then quickly let it snap closed, deep blue eyes meeting sea-foam, the moonlight barely illuminating them. He didn't like that Demyx was touching him and he wasn't exactly okay with sharing a sleeping bag and being that close to him. It wasn't something he wanted to do. But Demyx didn't seem to be willing to relent, those eyes of his tired but narrow, hand still tugging him along, their knees rubbing uncomfortably against jeans as they crawled along the chilly ground— Zexion gracelessly moving forward; Demyx carefully sliding backward.

Before long, Demyx was lining his sleeping bag with Zexion's blankets, shimmying inside and gesturing for Zexion to do the same. And then, they were pushed together, Zexion staring off into the darkness as his body warmed, the blond's breath rolling along his neck, shivers traveling up his spine. He couldn't help but stiffen, keeping his body completely still as his bedmate shifted behind him, hands curling somewhere near his spine. He wasn't comfortable with this.

"You don't have to be so stiff." A yawn pushed at his hair, hands moving behind him as if to stifle it. "I'm not going to do anything." Zexion made a dismissive sort of noise, burying his face against the downy material of the sleeping bag, eyes drifting closed at the way the material felt so wonderful against his cheek. "My sister and I used to sleep together all the time when we were little. Since my parents were gone all the time, we used each other as substitutes." Another yawn, a cold nose pressing against him as Demyx seemingly curled around him.

He bit at his lower lip, eyes still closed, breath coming easier now that he was warm. "I would sleep with my mom sometimes. When I was really little, I mean," he mumbled, whispering beneath his breath as he started to drift. And it didn't feel right sleeping with someone he didn't know. He didn't like getting so close. But… he hadn't been this warm in a long, long time and he really needed the sleep. It felt like he'd been fighting it for days.

"Hmm," Demyx burrowed a little farther, one hand resting high on his hip, strangely innocent. "What's she like? Your mother?" Zexion didn't reply, eyes closed, lips set in a soft line, breath coming in deep, even strokes.

He was already asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>November 9, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Olympus was in shambles, a broken image of its once magnificent self. It had never been classically beautiful like Atlantica had been, but there had always been a rather laidback feel to the place, a sort of old world charm that seeped from the winding streets. The city itself was rather compact, stretching over barely half the area of some of the world's more prominent areas, but the inner workings of it— the buildings, the streets, the infrastructure— were all poorly planned. And that's what made it so striking.<p>

The city was a mistake. The original founders had just built and built and built with no real strategy, some bleeding into others, all different heights and different styles. People had flocked here and created what came naturally to them. Olympus was chaos, streets differing in sizes, some areas too small for full grown adults to even walk through. It was the world's labyrinth, and it was attractive in and of itself. People who lived here basked in its history, tourists coming from far and wide to relax and fade away for a while. It was perfect.

And now, that once impeccably maintained chaos that drew in so many was nothing but a disaster. A winding, disenchanting disaster.

The streets that once carried carts and children, animals and tourists, was now covered in blood, bodies of the infected, bodies of the living, strewn across the winding paths, the once riveting red of the blood dried to a sickening blackish-brown. The smell of rot was thick in the air, clinging to the olden stones, permeating through buildings, sticking in the November chill. The area was dead. Everything in sight was dead. Completely and utterly dead. There was no movement, from infected or otherwise. It was just silent. Silent and horrifying because this place, this once beautiful place, wasn't alive anymore. If anyone managed to survive at all, they left a long, long time ago.

Or they never left at all.

"So," Roxas rolled his shoulders, letting his backpack fall to the ground with a resigned _thump_, the gift shop map they'd managed to find stretched before him, "if we're here at the Coliseum," he pointed at their general vicinity, the map's version much smaller than the grand piece of architecture before them, "then we're about halfway through the city. It looks like there's a road that leads out toward the outskirts, but there's this," he made a derisive little noise," whatever it is that looks like it's blocking the way. I don't know. I can't read this damn thing."

"Here, let me see," the redhead grabbed the map between spindly fingers, acidic eyes narrowing as he turned it this way and that. He could tell where they were, as the Coliseum was clearly marked as all main attractions typically are, but the rest of the map was more or less nothing but lines, crisscrossing and running over each other, buildings popping up randomly here and there, marked by something like dashes. It was easy enough to see which way they came from, since it was more or less the city's main road, a straight looking thing that had only made them dead-end once or twice, but the way they should be going was an entirely different story. There was neither rhyme nor reason to it. It was quite literally a squiggle on the map.

He sighed, rubbing his hand across his face as if it would make everything easier. They couldn't afford to get lost. They'd already been walking for quite some time and, despite how quiet everything seemed, he really didn't want to take any chances. They had to be out of here by nightfall. "Anyone have any ideas?"

Demyx shrugged, plopping down at his feet, jeans crinkling uncomfortably against the cobblestones. "We could guess. Process of elimination." Carefully, he removed his shoes, rubbing at the bottoms of his feet. Olympus might have been beautiful at one time, but the streets were murder. He didn't even want to imagine how much pain Zexion's feet must be in. "That'd eat up some time though, and we might not be able to find our way back."

"That wouldn't work. Not in this place," Roxas huffed, shrinking to sit on the edge of his bag. Briefly, Demyx wondered why he hadn't thought of that. "We could go back the way we came and try to work our way around the city, but that'd probably take even longer. And who knows how bad the terrain is after those earthquakes. I doubt it's completely stable."

"Hmm," Zexion hummed to himself, a little ways away from them, head tilted a little to better listen to their conversation. The fountain before him, one that was no doubt built when the city was first becoming a focal point, was leaking red water from the mermaid's skillfully crafted eyes. She was crying blood.

"What if we set up in one of the homes around here? We could set up for the night and look for a better map in the morning," Demyx tried, sea-foam eyes scouting the area around them. There were some homes with rather lavishly decorated exteriors that he was sure would work for the night. They obviously belonged to the upper class— one room could probably house the lot of them fairly easily.

"We'd have to clear it first," Axel mumbled, green eyes still searching the map, red hair dangling in knots about his feral face. There was a thin layer of dirt clinging to his neck.

The honey blond shrugged at that, fingering the knife secured in his pocket, "That's still better than getting caught outside."

"True. But we'd be going in blind. It might be safer to just double back and reevaluate our route. We—"

"Have you checked the road sizes," Zexion asked, effectively cutting him off as he turned away from the crying fountain, deep blue eyes landing on the outstretched map. "In cities like this, special roads had to be made in order for modern transportation. The main road that we took to get here was one of them and chances are that another one will lead out of the city. Otherwise, it would be too difficult for vehicles to move cargo through the area."

Axel eyed him for a moment, acidic green pools narrowed as they scanned his mostly concealed face, carefully looking away to rescan the map. Sure enough, one of the squiggles leading the opposite way away from the Coliseum was slightly larger than the others, labeled by a red line instead of a black one. "Awesome. It looks like it leads to the outskirts, but not much farther. We'll have to find our way from there."

"It looks like it'll take a while," Zexion added, taking a step closer to analyze the road, noticing how it looped back and forth to merge with other roads and avoid the disastrously placed buildings.

"Probably," Axel licked his lips, folding the map back into its original square, the paper crinkling uncomfortably against his palms. He held it out toward the frailer of them, eyes watching as he grabbed it between bandaged fingers, slate hair falling into his eyes. "You keep the map for a while, since you're obviously better with it than the rest of us. Make sure we don't get turned around, got it?"

Slate eyebrows raised minutely, their owner's button nose scrunching carefully, lips pressed tightly together. "Of course."

The redhead stretched, backpack shifting on his lean shoulders. "I guess we'd better get a move on. Let's go." And just like that, he was headed toward the indicated road, the other's following along behind him, Roxas and Zexion keeping pace, Demyx struggling to put his shoes back on and catch up at the same time.

Axel smiled back at him, laughing a little on the inside because Demyx was still so very much like the Demyx he'd always been, the weight of their situation resting not quite so heavily on him. It was fantastically just like the old days, where he and Demyx would run through the streets of Atlantica, Naminé sometimes tagging along.

He missed it. He missed knowing exactly where he was going to be at the end of the day. He missed getting to sleep in his own bed. He missed letting someone else take the reins for a while. He missed coming home late to Reno waiting up for him, a scowl on his lips but a smile in his eyes.

It was so normal and so boring and— he wanted it back. He wanted every single bit of it back.

He wanted to wake up in the morning and realize that this had all just been a dream. He wanted to smile and laugh and tell Reno everything that had happened, hands gesturing wildly, Reno humoring him just by listening. He wanted his life back; he wanted _himself _back. He wanted to be the guy he was before, the one who could talk and listen and get along with everyone. He didn't want to be angry and skeptical and everything else. It was tearing him up inside— not being able to really trust anyone besides Demyx, someone he'd known all his life.

This person he was now wasn't who he was. And it was like he couldn't help it. He couldn't just let his guard down and let anyone in, because that could compromise everything. Real life didn't work like the movies. You didn't go into something like this and come out the same person. It just didn't happen.

But he wanted it to.

Axel wanted to come out of this alive. He wanted to come out of this and smile and laugh and do all those crazy things that teenagers are supposed to do. He wanted to be able to look at himself in the mirror when this was all over and see the same person that Reno had worked so hard to raise. And he wanted him there. He wanted Reno to be there with him. He wanted him to be beside that mirror to poke his cheeks and pull his hair and make fun of him in the same way that older siblings are supposed to. But that wasn't going to happen either.

Olympus was a dead land right now. During the outbreaks, during the original attacks, it must have been a nightmare. The chances of Reno making it out of this place alive were slim to none. He knew that. He knew that to the point that it squeezed at his chest and shattered him into a million pieces. Now, he just had to accept it, accept that he might make it out of here as an only child. There might not be a Reno in the world anymore. He might be gone, never to smile at him again. Never to tell him he was proud of him again. Never to love him again.

He might really be alone.

"Axel, man, stop walking!"

The redhead in question stopped dead in his tracks, blinking to dispel the moisture from his eyes, taking in the same cobblestone streets they'd been on for what already felt like hours. Roxas stood a few feet from him, freckles standing out across his nose, honey blond hair sticking up in every direction. Demyx and Zexion were much farther back, the former of the two with his head stuck in the window of what looked to be a rather rundown pick-up truck, blue and moderately rusted.

Roxas just smiled. "You know how to drive?"

* * *

><p>Demyx yawned, oceanic eyes barely staying open as they road through the last of Olympus' many twists and turns. It had taken longer than expected to get the pick-up truck to run correctly— a wiring problem that Roxas thankfully knew how to fix— but they were making good time. They wouldn't have made it half as far on foot. As it was, they were already past the main part of the city, the truck puttering along the cobblestone streets in a way that was a little terrifying, but strangely efficient. The truck was obviously on its last legs, the interior torn in places, holes from cigarettes and blood splatters from who knows what littering the inside, but it was trying. And it was doing a good job so far.<p>

"We're nearly out of gas."

"Hmm," Demyx hummed, leaning over and resting his weight on his palms to better see the gas gauge. And sure enough, Axel was right. The gauge was nearly reading empty, the red light blinking every so often under the dashboard. Axel and he were the only two in the cab; Zexion and Roxas were nestled down in the back, a yelp sometimes following a nasty bump in the road. "Should we stop?"

The redhead shook his head, exhaling heavily through his mouth. "We'll be out of the city in a few minutes. We can hunker down in a gas station along the outskirts. It'll be safer."

Dirty blond eyebrows furrowed a bit, but Demyx just leaned back in his seat, taking in the darkening sky, the slowly passing stone buildings, archways intricately designed. It was such a shame to see a beautiful place like this torn apart. When and if this ever ended, he doubted that this place would ever be the same. People would come back, he was sure, but this city would always have scars. They all would.

Nothing would ever be the same.

Demyx remained silent until the truck started to slow, coming to a stop in front of an older looking gas station, one that was obvious family owned with its mural-like walls and loving flyers placed in the window, the walls of Olympus long gone. Axel flashed him a cocky sort of smile before making his way out, red hair wild from having the windows open, a crowbar found in the truck bed held in his hands. Demyx hurried to do the same, opening the truck door with something like apprehension, his gun carefully resting against his back belt loop, a little scratched from its collision with the cement floor of the warehouse in Twilight Town. Roxas and Zexion were dismounting from the back, Roxas stretching before jumping down, hoping to avoid the way that Zexion stumbled, bandaged palms and kneecaps hitting the cracked cement foundation of the gas station, a drop or two of blood transferring from his right knee to his jeans. He didn't seem fazed.

"So," Roxas trailed, finally hopping down, backpack threatening his balance as his feet smacked against the ground, "what's the plan?" Icy blue eyes looked to Axel, mouth quirked slightly to the side in a way that was almost mocking.

Axel just grinned back, the crowbar shifting in his hands. "We check out our new quarters."

Carefully, he walked forward, eyes scanning the glass windows of the gas station to search for any movement. When he didn't see any, he opened the door, the station's little bell jingling as he did. For a moment, he stood frozen, the crowbar held in front of him, Roxas crouched behind him, his knife resting in the palm of his hand. Demyx was a little farther back, body positioned in front of Zexion's like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Nothing happened.

With his thin lips quirked slightly to the side, he moved forward, motioning for Roxas to move toward the back while he stayed in the front, for Demyx to stay near the door just in case. And they checked every nook and cranny. He and Roxas moving in sync on opposite ends of the store, bodies weaving to check behind and between shelves, shoes squeaking every once in a while against the tiled floors. Axel checked the backroom, seeing nothing but old chairs pushed in the corners, the paint obviously old. Roxas checked the bathrooms located in his half of the store, seeing nothing of interest, his knife drooping a bit in his hands. It seemed as if they were safe.

Relaxing a little, he made his way back to the main part of the station, leaning back against one of the walls with his arms crossed questioningly at the way that Axel was genuinely smiling for what seemed like the first time since he'd met him, something held carefully in his hands. Was that…_ice cream_?

The honey blond made his way forward, weaving through the shop's many shelves with something like impatience, his face lighting up when he saw the little cooler tucked so inconspicuously against the wall closest to the front entrance. An ice cream cooler, fully stocked with what looked to be some of McDuck's best blends. And there was sea salt flavored! He hadn't had that in months!

"The electricity's still on," Axel grinned around his own sea salt flavored popsicle, emerald eyes light and happy, teenage for a change.

Roxas dived for the cooler, fingers shaking as he slid it open, mouth splitting open into a smile that reached his eyes and crinkled up his nose as he grabbed a popsicle for himself and ripped it open, the flavor exploding on his tongue. It was just as fantastic as he remembered it. He closed his eyes for a moment and just let it seep in, those blue pools opening again to an image that he wouldn't be forgetting— Axel and Demyx smiling at one another, coated in dirt, eyes young and wonderfully happy. He basked in it, carefully sucking the salty flavored treat, mouth quirked.

And then he stopped, blue eyes narrowing in just the slightest way. Weren't there supposed to be four of them?

He twisted a bit to the side, honey colored hair tickling at his ears. At the end of the row, hands knotted behind his back, stood Zexion, head turned downward in just the slightest way. And he didn't really understand. With eyes slightly narrowed now, he grabbed another popsicle from the cooler, walking toward the other with carefully measured steps. Zexion tilted his head a little when he saw him coming closer. Once he was just a foot or so away, he stopped, holding out the wrapped treat. "Have one," he tried, smiling a little.

Zexion just shook his head, bandaged fingertips coming up to brush away a bit of his hair, eyes a little questioning, a little unsure. "I only get ice cream on special occasions."

Honey blond brows furrowed a bit at that, mouth drooping. And then he just shook his head, pushing the popsicle off on the other boy whether he wanted it or not. "It _is_ a special occasion," he said with conviction.

"I don't understand…" Zexion tilted his head as his voice trailed off, eyes widening a little in his confusion, the treat resting against one of his palms, bandages against the plastic wrapping.

"Well, we're still alive, aren't we?"

* * *

><p>Deep blue eyes went wide as they opened, breath catching in his throat, body tensing. He could hear footsteps— heavy, shuffling footsteps inside the gas station. The smell of rot permeated the air. He swallowed thickly, slate hair falling in front of his face, eyes clouding over. It was one of them.<p>

It was one of _them_.

A shelf fell to the floor, the traveler's snacks that once rested along its metal chambers scattering across the tiles, crackers and cakes colliding with their plastic wrappers. Beside him, Demyx tensed, Zexion scooting forward just enough to place his hand over his mouth, those sea-like eyes going wide at the raw fear reflected back at him. They stayed silent, the sounds of the infected— however many there were— lumbering around the small space and the others just beginning to wake, blankets and sleeping bags ruffling in a makeshift sort of cadence. Axel was the first to move, crouching down low and crawling across the small space between them, crowbar in hand. The smaller of the blonds wasn't far behind him, knife resting in his palm, jeans slung low on his hips.

Demyx sat up slowly, shimmying out from between he and Zexion's shared space, dirty blond hair sticking out wildly from his head, a faint sheen of sweat just beginning to appear as he tried to breathe without panicking. Zexion followed just as carefully, pulling himself a little closer to the corner. He didn't have a weapon like the others— staying out of the way was really his only chance. Axel and Roxas broke away first, slinking in opposite directions, eyes equally wide, bodies equally tense. Demyx moved to follow Axel, hesitant, unable to see in the dark.

And he tripped, sock clad feet sliding along the material of his rumpled sleeping bag, blue eyes wide, body colliding with the closest set of shelves, sending them toppling to the tile to follow the others.

Then, there was chaos.

There was screeching and the smell of rot, the sounds of bodies shuffling along the floor, shelves hitting the ground, glass souvenirs shattering as they hit the floor, shards scattering across the aisles. Zexion tried to stay in one place, eyes swiveling as he tried to make sense of it all. Demyx was up now, surging forward to make sure Axel was out of danger, the redhead bludgeoning one of the infected with the crowbar, what looked to be decomposing flesh coming off in chunks. Roxas was on the other side of the station, ducking behind shelves and sliding on his knees to get closer to the door.

He couldn't see everything, the late night air blinding him as he tried to duck into the corner. The other three were moving, but the infected— there were more of them. Four or five black shadows bumping into things and screeching with that terrible sound, teeth coming down, claws ripping and shredding everything they could reach, a nasty yellow sort of color that reflected off the glass surfaces in the room.

How had they not heard them? How had they even gotten in? They'd locked the doors. They'd covered them and secured them, and they were supposed to be _safe_. They were supposed to be okay here. Everything was taken care of. They hadn't seen anything in two days. They were safe and secure and— _no_. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to _happen_.

He shuffled backwards, deep blue eyes wide as he tried to gauge how far away everyone was, how close he was to the infected. He was the safest right now, secured in the corner of the gas station, back against the wall. And it was wrong. It was so wrong, because he didn't know what to do. How was he supposed to help? He couldn't fight like the others could. He couldn't—

Demyx screamed, body pinned beneath one of the infected, hips bucking to get it off, hands holding it in place above him, the flesh of the thing peeling beneath his palms. And Zexion stopped moving, chest heaving because he could feel cool metal beneath him, poking into his side. The gun. Demyx had lost the gun in his sleep.

He shook his head violently, chest heaving, throat closing in on him. No. He wouldn't. He _couldn't_. But he had to. Roxas couldn't do anything to help him; he was surrounded by two, the knife in his hands thrusting forward while he danced back. And Axel— he was screaming, trying to get to Demyx while another one of the infected stood in front of him, blocking him.

He was the only one who could do anything.

Carefully, he grabbed the gun, lifting himself and holding it out in front of him, the sounds of screeching and screaming ringing in his ears, breath coming out in raspy pants. All he had to do was shoot. That's all he had to do. He could do that. He knew he could.

"_What are you going to do? Run to your fuckin' mother? She won't believe a word you say. She'll believe me. She __**always**__ believes me!"_

He swallowed, lips quivering, bandaged fingers shaking as they wrapped around the trigger.

_A fist pressing into his stomach, ribs breaking under the pressure. A smirk on that face that just wouldn't go away._

"Shoot, Zexion! Shoot," Axel shouted over the noise, crashing and screeching and Demyx still screaming, trying to get away, trying to get it off of him.

"_You won't lay a hand on me. She'd never forgive you. I win, Zexion. __**I always win**__."_

His palms shook, eyes so wide as he tried to aim, not able to tell the infected's body from Demyx's, both of them moving along the tiled floor, rolling and twisting against one another.

"_That's it now. You going to shoot me, boy? Ha, you can't even do that right. Come on, I'm waiting. I'm fuckin' waiting for it. I won't even move. You think you can shoot me now? I'll make the perfect target. You can't do it. You'll never—"_

Axel snatched the gun from his hands, pushing him out of the way with surprising strength, body colliding with his as he scrambled to get to the gun, emerald eyes wide and desperate.

The gun went off.

And the screaming stopped.

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey, you've reached Demyx DiMonté… or his phone, I guess. Umm, just leave a message after the beep and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can. <em>_**Beep**__."_

"_Dem, this is Naminé. I just wanted to let you know that the flight landed okay and that Kairi and I are having a blast. I wish you could have come along. Love you lots. Bye!"_

"_Demyx, hey, can you tell me what's going on? The teacher said we were being moved to a different part of the island because of something that happened on the mainland, but they aren't telling us anything. Is everyone okay? … Just call me back as soon as you can. I love you. Bye."_

"_Things are really chaotic here. I heard on a news report that people were dying, but they aren't— there aren't any details. Can you please, __**please **__call me back? I'm starting to get really worried. Love you."_

"_Demyx, please answer your phone. Please? Are mom and dad okay? Are you okay? Please, Demyx, please call me back. I need you to call me back."_

"_This is Naminé again. And you know that and— please call me, Dem. Please, please call me. I want to go home so bad. I love you."_

"_This isn't funny, Demy. Call me back. I'm so worried about you. Are you okay? You have to be okay. You __**have **__to be okay. Please, just be okay for me. You have to do that for me. I'll never forgive you if you don't. I lo—"_

"_We're sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been temporarily disconnected. Please hang up and try again."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Long chapter is long. And ridiculous. I have a new found respect for people who write stories about journeys. Seriously. All this movement kills me. **

**Anyway, I'm not entirely sure what I want to say about this chapter****. I wanted to focus more on interactions between characters and their relationships. Roxas, Axel, and Demyx are all missing a sibling, and Zexion seems to be missing everything, hmm? And while the interaction between the characters is still stiffer than I want them to be in places, I'm not entirely displeased with the results. It's better than silence between them, yeah? **

**The scene in the beginning wasn't really supposed to happen, but I like how it turned out. I wanted to give a slightly different point of view of the outbreaks, because ****Namin**é ******is technically safe. It was a little weird to write, but... I don't know. Little Nami and Demy are kind of precious. ^^**

**I'm a little worried about how well the ending translated as well. I saw it one way in my head, but the actual section seems more disjointed. So, I guess, just let me know how you think about that? **

**Production: Faster, because this one would have been done days ago if it hadn't kept stretching (Me and my silly plotlines that refuse to stay the same). **

**Question: What do you think about Zexion? His character has some key moments in this chapter, but he seems to change a bit from section to section. Do you think it flows well with his characterization? Do you think his movement in this chapter reflects more of his personality? What do you think about the bits of his past you have seen so far? **

**Quiz Winners: None this time. Demyx had two votes; Axel had one.**

**Quiz Answer: Zexion, as we can so plainly see here at the end of the chapter. He is easily the smartest of the characters and he knows the risks that come with hesitation, but yet, he is still unable to pull the trigger. **

**New Quiz: Who were the two boys that were seen in section one? What relation does one have to one of our main characters? (This should be an easy one.) **

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). **


	6. Betrayal

**Another long chapter. Hooray~ (I need sleep. T.T)**

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle…_**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. I just hope I don't disappoint you guys! **

****Also, this chapter is not betaed. All mistakes are my own. If you find anything, please let me know.** I'll fix them as best as I can.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Blood dribbled down his chin, running down his neck and pooling on the tiled floor, coating his hair and matting it in place, the sickening wetness seeping through the tangled mess to tickle his scalp. There was more of it littered across his front, splattered over his chest, locked in the creases of his elbows, wedged in between his nails. The red gave way to black and green in places, chunks of rotted flesh fisted in his palms, tattered in places, held together by congealed skin, the waste of it dripping down his wrists, mixing with the blood along the rest of his arms.<p>

And the infected's body lay over him, collapsed, the back of its skull split open, scattered pieces of it pressing into his hair, those yellowed eyes of its so wide, pupils blown, mouth hanging open, teeth glistening inches away from his neck.

"Demyx," Axel called, apprehensive, terrified. "Demyx, you've got to get up, man. You've got to get up." He could hear footsteps shuffling toward him, slow and thin, the faint crunching of plastic wrapped snacks crinkling beneath his feet. "Dem," he tried again, voice getting quieter, shaking a little at the end.

The redhead stopped, silence permeating the air. What was left of the infected must have been gone. He didn't really know what had happened after he'd been knocked down. He had been with Axel. Roxas was on the other side of the store by himself— he must have finished them off on his own— and Zexion was somewhere in the back. He knew that much. But whatever else had happened, the screaming that was going off in cadence in with own— he didn't know. He honestly didn't know.

Demyx blinked, swallowing thickly as he unclenched his jaw, chapped lips quivering. Carefully, he bucked his hips, pushing up with his elbows and chest, rolling the rotting corpse off of him. It didn't make it far, simply falling to the tile with a sickening squelching sound, what was left of its head lolling slightly to the side. But that was okay; it was far enough for him. He collapsed back into his previous position, breathing quickly as he rested his head in the pool of blood. He was alive. He was nasty and exhausted and probably in shock, but he was alive. And he could definitely, _definitely_ live with that.

Axel was the first to reach him, not seeming to care much for the way the rotted fluid of the infected seeped into his jeans as he skidded down on his knees, acidic green eyes wide as took in the sight of him. "Don't you ever do that to me again. You hear me, Dem. I'll fucking kill you if you do, got it?"

The dirty blond couldn't help but let out a humorous sort of laugh at that, hysterical chuckles escaping his lips, the blood along his neck beginning to dry and pull at his skin. "I think I got it."

"Yeah," Axel sighed, jaw trembling in just the slightest way as he brought them forehead to forehead, not minding the blood and the rot, his own face already covered in it, chunks of flesh knotted into his hair. "You're okay." And he sounded so relieved, voice whispered against him, those acidic eyes glistening against his sea-like pools. He was okay. They were both okay.

For a moment, Demyx let them stay like that, connected by grime-coated skin, basking in the friendly affection that they didn't really get to have anymore. And then, he pulled away, sliding back as Axel sat up, the seat of his jeans resting where his head once was, what was left of the blood soaking into the pockets of them. He took a moment to glance at Axel and shoot him a genuine smile, taking in the sight of him, tattered and frayed, green eyes exhausted and relieved, before letting himself look at their surroundings.

He knew that it wouldn't be the same as it was before. It wouldn't be the same little shelter they'd found mere hours ago, their little paradise, but he wasn't expecting it to hurt. He wasn't expecting it to physically hurt him to look at the damage, even in the darkness.

The once carefully maintained aisles were lost, the metal shelving littering the floor— some missing shelves, others merely toppled over. The snacks were scattered across the station, crushed and jostled and smashed by feet and bodies. And there was blood, so much blood along the walls. Even in the dark, he could see it, the startling streaks of it running down the walls, pooling on the floor, prints of it on the glass panes at the front of their little shelter, illuminated by the moonlight. The other infected were all dead, pieces of them littered on each side of the gas station, arms and legs twisted, gnarled beyond repair, faces bludgeoned and slit.

Dead. Completely and utterly dead. They wouldn't be coming back.

He let out a little sigh of relief at that thought, resting back against his elbows, Axel watching him with carefully narrowed eyes. He stared back at him, blue eyes questioning, head tilted slightly to the side. Axel didn't blink. He didn't say anything. Demyx opened his mouth as if to say something to him, but stopped short, letting his mouth close and looking away with a little shake of his head.

Roxas was several feet away, leaning his weight against the back coolers, icy blue eyes watching him with his mouth quirked in a smile, blood coating him, but the smile stretched across his lips nothing if not victorious. Zexion was farther away, body clean, deep blue eyes wide as they seemingly stared at nothing, his frail frame shaking unnaturally, chest heaving like he couldn't breathe.

Dirty blond hair swayed to the side in chunks as Demyx tilted to get a better view of him. He was physically better off than the rest of them, obviously saved from the majority of the fight, but he looked like he was doing so much worse. Blinking a bit, he turned back to Axel. "Is he o—"

"Were you bitten," Axel cut him off, lips set in a thin line, jaw clenched.

Demyx startled, eye narrowing, brows furrowed, thoughts derailed. "I— No. No," he shook his head, the blood along his neck irritating his skin with the movement. "I'm okay. It didn't get me."

"Did any of the— Did anything get in your eyes? Your mouth?" He leaned a little closer, acidic green eyes serious and set, staring straight at him.

The blond shook his head again, swallowing thickly at the lump in his throat, his voice tight. "It didn't _get _me. I'm alright, Axe. I'm okay. It didn't bite me. I didn't swallow any blood or anything like that," he whispered, smiling in attempt to reassure him that he really was okay. That he was still alive and that they were still going to make it through this— they were still surviving.

"Okay." Blue and green locked for just the barest of moments, and everything was okay again.

"You two still kicking over there?" They glanced away from each other at the approaching footsteps, the squeak of shoes meshing with blood and tile coming toward them. Roxas stopped halfway between them and Zexion's still shaking form, his jeans riding low on his hips, blood sprinkling the area along his cheeks where the freckles should have stood out against his skin. "I heard the gun go off, but I didn't know who was screaming," he shrugged a bit. "I thought it was Zexion at first."

And Demyx literally watched Axel's eyes darken, green orbs narrowing, thin brows furrowing as his fists clenched against his thighs. "I'm going to fucking_ kill_ him," he growled lowly, jaw pulled tightly, body taut.

The blonds' eyes met, sea-foam and ice questioning. "What?"

But it was already too late. Axel was pulling himself to his feet, knees popping as he stood, angrily crossing the gas station with his fists at his side. Zexion saw him coming— he must have, those eyes of his still so wide— but he didn't bother to move as the redhead grabbed at him, knuckles tightening at his throat as he snarled, body leaning over the smaller's still shaking form. He didn't say anything. Instead, he just stood there, fuming with his hands wrapped around the other's throat, chest heaving in fury.

"Axe," Demyx tried, voice shaking as he stood, the blood from his jeans trying to keep him glued to the floor with just the slightest tug. He'd never seen him like this. He'd never seen him this angry. He'd always been terrifying when he was mad, quick and fierce, but he was easy to calm down. He never tried anything; he never hurt anyone. He was never scared that he_ would_ hurt anyone. "You need to let him go. He didn't do anything."

And that just set him off, the redhead's fingers tightening even more as he lifted the younger off the ground, sincerely cutting off Zexion's air now, skinny legs straining toward the floor beneath baggy denim. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Why didn't you shoot it?" He was yelling, shaking the other with his hands still wrapped around his throat, silvery tinted hair swaying as his skull smacked against the painted brick wall, lips quivering. Zexion wasn't even fighting back.

Demyx rushed forward, grabbing at his forearm and trying to pull him back, trying to get him to let go, because this wasn't right. This wasn't Axel and he wasn't okay with this. "Let him go! Axel, you've gotta— he can't breathe!"

Axel just pushed him back, still shaking, fingers still tightening— and Zexion must have understood that he wasn't about to let go, bandaged fingers coming up to tug at the redhead's wrists, nails useless against the scratchy cloth wrapped against his skin, feet actually beginning to kick out against him. "He was just going to let it kill you! He wasn't going to do anything!"

The dirty blond startled a bit at that, sea-foam eyes a little wide, but… it didn't really matter, did it? Zexion had no reason to care if he lived or not. If he had died, if he'd been bitten or eaten or whatever, it wouldn't have been Zexion's fault. He wasn't the one who started this mess. He wasn't accountable for Demyx or anyone else. Maybe he could have helped him sooner. Maybe he could have joined in the fight and kept them all a little safer. But it was over. Maybes don't matter. It was over. They were all okay.

And Axel was going to ruin that.

He surged forward, tugging at Axel's forearm again, harder this time, his feet slipping against the tiles. "It's okay, Axel. It's okay. It's _over_. Everybody's still alive— and it doesn't matter! It really doesn't matter! Just let him go, Axe. Just let him go!" And Zexion was choking now, his lips turning blue, chest heaving as he struggled to catch a breath. He was going to die.

He was going to die because Axel was all wrong and he couldn't make him let go. And it was his fault that Axel was mad in the first place, because if he was paying attention, maybe they wouldn't have been attacked in the first place. Maybe he wouldn't have fallen and maybe they could have all just stayed quiet. And the maybes don't matter, but this wasn't going to end well. And maybe he could have stopped it from happening to begin with.

They all hit the ground in a heap, Roxas rushing forward and knocking them to the tile, himself coming down on top of them, Demyx and Axel a tangle of limbs, Zexion struggling to catch a breath even as Axel's fingers left his throat. The redhead moved first, thin lips still set in such an angry line as he tried to get back to Zexion, punching wherever he could reach, catching the side of the honey blond's cheek. Roxas pounced back at him, straddling his boney hips, his hands encircling his wrists and keeping them pinned to the floor despite their obvious height difference.

Acid met ice, and he wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

Demyx crawled forward, pulling Zexion upright once he reached him, their limbs all twisted and knotted together in the darkness. He was still choking, hands coming up to his throat and encircling it himself with shaking fingers, chest heaving in a way that it shouldn't. And Demyx didn't know what to do. He'd taken care of Naminé after broken hearts and scraped knees, but he'd never dealt with this. He'd never— and Axel caused it.

Carefully, he rubbed at his back, his spine meeting his palm through the thin material of his clothes, the bones visibly standing out against the cloth. "Shh, shhh. It's okay. I'm not—," he swallowed thickly, wondering if Zexion could even hear him. "We're not going to let him hurt you."

"Hey," Roxas' voice cut through the panic, clear and sharp. "Grab your stuff and take him to the backroom. Me and Axel will take the bathrooms. Lock the door until morning. We'll figure out what we're doing then. As for now, the main area isn't safe, and these two," he glanced between the still struggling redhead and his still choking victim, "need to be separated."

Demyx nodded, rubbing Zexion's back one last time before grabbing their things from the floor, shouldering them and adjusting to their weight. Deftly, he lifted Zexion from where he was curled on top of the tile, letting the other come to his feet more or less on his own, but making him lean into him once he was up. Axel was… this wasn't okay. This was a fight for survival, but this wasn't okay. Zexion hadn't done anything.

"I want to know why," the redhead ground out through gritted teeth as they were walking away, muscles straining against Roxas' as he tried to gain the upper hand, still so obviously angry. "I want to know why he didn't shoot it."

And Demyx wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he heard— felt— Zexion whisper against his neck.

"_I couldn't do it again."_

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><p>Axel rolled his neck, tossing his blood soaked shirt into the nearby trashcan, his muscles loosening even as his acidic green eyes narrowed. This was wrong. This was so unbelievably wrong. He should be with Demyx. Protecting him from that— <em>person<em>. What the hell was his problem anyway? He was quiet and useful enough when need be, but they would have been just fine without him. Zexion was just slowing them down— and he could have gotten Demyx killed. Yeah, sure, Zexion hadn't been in any real danger. He hadn't been the one with that thing on top of him, but he was the one who had the gun. Everything could have been over a whole hell of a lot sooner if he had bothered to help out at all. And Demyx, that idiot, had taken Zexion's side.

Didn't he understand? Didn't he get it? If it wasn't for him, if he hadn't managed to kill the one in front of him and get to the back of the store, if he hadn't managed to get Zexion to drop the gun, Demyx would be dead right now. Or worse, turned into one of those things. And it was like he didn't understand that at all. He was okay with this. He was okay with all of this. He even tried to make him let go! Why? Why would he do that when Zexion was the one who nearly let him get killed? It didn't make any sense. It didn't make any _sense_.

"Oh, stop sulking," Roxas grumbled from behind him, crouched on the floor with his arms buried in his backpack. "You look like a squished tomato."

Axel huffed, turning around so he could lean against the line of bathroom sinks, the imitation marble cold against his back, the hairs on his arms standing on end. He was livid. Completely and utterly livid, and this puny little brat had the audacity to compare him to a fucking tomato. Lovely. Just lovely. "What's your problem, man?"

The blond scoffed, barely bothering to glance at him as he started to pull spare clothes from the bottom of his bag. "World hunger, the zombie apocalypse, this bullshit calculus midterm I'm pretty sure I failed, and you. A lot of you right about now."

"Yeah, whatever," Axel crossed his arms, voice tight and still noticeably angry.

"As you can see," Roxas continued like he hadn't bothered to comment at all, standing up slowly, his bloody clothes sagging against his skin, "I have a lot of problems. And you really, really shouldn't be one of them." Icy blue searched his face for a moment, narrowed and rather indifferent.

The redhead bowed upwards at that, fists clenched in the crook of his elbows. Roxas obviously didn't get it. He didn't know the whole story. Axel wasn't the one that was the problem. "I'm not."

"You are," the blond fired right back without a moment's hesitation, voice muffling a bit as he pulled off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor with a sickening squelch.

"I'm not the one that wouldn't shoot!" He stepped forward slightly, body taut, voice raised well above normal speaking volume.

And Roxas didn't seem fazed, giving him a rather disinterested stare before shaking his head and chunking his jeans with little ceremony, creamy legs and black boxers replacing the grimy blue denim from before. He was obviously in much better shape than Axel originally thought, his frame well defined with lean muscles. "Uh, yeah. I think I got that. What with the screaming and all." Blue eyes rolled, slender fingers coming up to run through tangled hair with something resembling a grimace shadowing pink lips.

The taller scowled at the tone, thin lips tilted downwards, head turning to the side when the honey blond began to slide his boxers down slim legs. "I'm _not_ the problem," he reiterated, tone a little softer now, but still sharp around the edges. "Zexion is."

Roxas gave him a long suffering look, sliding a fresher pair of boxers onto his hips and leaning his weight to one side. Axel might be physically strong and a little more than willing to survive, but Roxas was beginning to wonder if he really thought about things. He was obviously protective of Demyx— he'd figured that out day one— but he seemed to have a one track mind when it came down to it. Demyx was important to him.

Yeah, okay. That was fine. Roxas could totally understand that. If it was between his best friend— _ex_, he was dead now. He needed to remember that—and his younger brother, he would pick his brother a thousand times over. He would happily die if it meant that Sora came out okay in the end, but he didn't think he'd react like that. He didn't think he would hold someone against a wall by their throat and literally try to strangle them, especially when they hadn't really done anything in the first place. He liked to think he had more sense than that.

"Zexion isn't the problem. You are," he sighed, walking passed the redhead to stand at the sinks, pulling paper towels out of the black plastic dispenser by the handful. "Accept it. Get over it. I really don't care." He turned one of the faucets on, the knob twisting beneath his palm, a steady stream of cold water coming down to pool in the sink. Carefully, ignoring the huffing redhead beside him, he wet a few of the paper sheets, nearly moaning in relief as he rubbed it along his aching feet, letting it travel up his calves and around his thighs, the cool water running across his skin in little rivulets every time his squeezed the cloth.

"I'm not the one who nearly got somebody else killed. I didn't do that. Zexion did," Axel stepped back, green eyes watching warily as Roxas began working on his stomach, grabbing another set of paper towels and repeating the entire process. "What are you even doing?"

The blond jolted a bit at the question, turning his face to stare at him with something like disbelief crossing his features, the blood of the infected still sprinkled across his nose, a rather nasty bruise standing out against his cheek. "Dude, we stink. We're covered in blood and I haven't had a shower in weeks. I'm disgusting. And I am not about to walk out of this place without something akin to a bath."

Axel laughed, a tense sort of thing that fought to get out of his throat. "Ulterior motive to calling the bathroom?"

"What can I say? Hygiene," he shrugged, his voice light, a moistened paper towel, scratchy and brown, coming up to rub across his face, wiping away the blood and leaving behind little pink stains that would only go away with time, his light freckles apparent against his skin once again. "And about what you said before," he paused, letting their eyes lock, blue and green, much more serious now, "I get it. Zexion wouldn't shoot the gun, even with your friend lying on the ground screaming his guts out. He didn't do anything, but that's just it. He didn't do _anything_. You're the one that went all psycho on a guy that wasn't even fighting back. We aren't friends. You and Demyx are— sure— but the two of us aren't. Zexion isn't.

"You don't know me. You don't know why I hate babysitting or why I have a thing for grunge music. You don't know why Zexion wakes up in the morning or why the guy fucking _let _you strangle him. And you aren't supposed to. That's how this works. We stick together because it's safer this way, not because we grew up together or want to get to know each other or have this thing for making friends during the end of the damn world. We're all in this for ourselves. Zexion didn't do anything wrong by not shooting. He was hidden at the back of the store and he honestly had no need to call attention to himself."

Axel huffed, stepping forward as Roxas bent forward over the sink, his elbows holding most of his weight, icy blue eyes studying himself in the mirror. "That doesn't change the fact that he hesitated."

"So his survival instincts kind of suck when it comes to an outright fight. I thought that was pretty obvious when you all out mauled the guy," Roxas replied, rather nonchalantly bending back farther, sticking his head into the sink bowl, voice echoing a bit.

"But Demyx could've be—"

"Dude, get over it. It's over and he's fine. You're flipping out over nothing," he popped up from the sink, weight resting on his arms, feet flat against the bathroom's rather bland tile. "And since you didn't actually kill the guy, I think it's about time we put this behind us. You'll either get over it or you won't. It's not my problem if you're not trying to kill people— living ones, anyway. But if this," he lazily pointed to his bruised cheek, a sickening shade of darkening purple, "ever happens again, it will be. And you don't want that."

Axel winced a bit at that, vaguely remembering the instant when he caught him instead of Zexion. He honestly felt a little bad about that. "Sorry."

The only reply he got was the turning of the faucet.

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><p>"Will you let me see?"<p>

Zexion shifted slightly from his curled position on the floor, eyes barely adjusting to the light hanging overhead. Demyx was in front of him, freshly changed into an alternate pair of clothes, skin stained a little red from rubbing away the lingering blood. He was smiling a little shyly at him, lips barely turned up at the edges, voice shaking a little apprehensively. And Zexion didn't really know what to make of him. He should hate him. He had nearly gotten him killed. He had to understand that, didn't he?

But he had stood up for him, tried to get Axel to let go when his vision started to black out. And he really shouldn't have. He really shouldn't have stopped him. Zexion didn't want to die. No part of him wanted to die, but he hadn't— He wasn't okay. He was so stuck inside his head that he couldn't even bother to help the one person that had cared about him since the incident. Axel was right to be angry. He had every reason to be.

"Zexion," Demyx tried again, dirty blond hair falling into his eyes, red tinted in places where he just couldn't get the blood out. "Will you let me see your neck, please? I need to make sure Ax— I need to make sure you didn't get hurt too badly." His voice quivered a bit as he spoke, still trying to fight back the nausea at the thought of Axel doing something like this to another person. Another living, breathing human being.

Silently, Zexion nodded, body still shaking a little as he readjusted himself, his legs folding underneath him, one arm falling to his side even as the other came up to pull back his hair, fully exposing his neck when he tilted his chin toward the ceiling. He could tell that there was some damage. He'd been in the same position before— trapped against a wall, hands at his throat— so he knew what it could do. The last time it had happened, he'd passed out completely, blacking out only to wake up hours later on his bedroom floor.

This, what Axel had done, it wasn't as bad. The intent to hurt him was the same, but Axel hadn't applied pressure long enough to cause any lasting damage. He would bruise, he was sure, and he probably wouldn't be able to swallow properly for quite a while, but other than that, he was fairly certain he'd be fine. He had bruises in other places from the redhead's fists after he'd been dropped, and he was positive that he could feel blood beneath his hairline where Axel had beat it against the wall, but it was nothing he hadn't dealt with before.

He was fine. As fine as he always was anyway.

Gingerly, the blond shuffled forward, awkwardly resting his weight on a palm placed by the other's hip, grabbing Zexion's sharp little chin so he could lean a little closer to his neck, the pale skin taut and obviously irritated, red in places, purplish-black in others. Axel really did intend to strangle him, a clear outline of his hands scarily visible on Zexion's skin. And this was his friend. His best friend who had helped him with math homework and stayed up all night with him when Naminé had the flu. He was a good person. Really. Axel was such a good person; he would have never done something like this before. He would have been horrified by it.

"Um," he swallowed, tentatively running his fingertips across the bruised skin, flinching back when Zexion tensed. He fell to rest on his heels as Zexion let go of his hair, a curtain of it falling down when his chin leveled, deep blue eyes watching him sadly. "I know this probably doesn't mean a lot coming from me, but I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry that Axel thought— That he would—," he made an desperate sort of noise, a whimper in the back of his throat. "I'm just really, really sorry. And he is too. Or he will be when he comes to his senses. He's not a bad guy. Honestly, he's not."

Zexion blinked, slowly pulling his legs up so that he could rest his chin against his knees, once again curled against the badly chipping paint on the wall. He was tired, so very tired, and he could still feel himself shaking, the muscles in his fingers struggling to keep them still, his shoulders pulled taut, but this wasn't right.

This wasn't right at all. Demyx should be angry at him. He should be yelling and screaming and throwing the rickety old chairs against the walls. He should be trying to hit him, hurt him just like his father always did when he was angry. He didn't shoot. He didn't help him when he could have. This was his fault. Axel's actions were a direct consequence of his own. He deserved this.

Demyx shouldn't apologize.

"Don't be," Zexion coughed, hands coming to cover his mouth as his chest creaked against the pressure. "Sorry, I mean. Don't be sorry."

The dirty blond tensed as the other coughed, fighting back the nurturing urge to rush forward and fuss with his hair, to shush him and make everything okay, to make all the nasty bruises and bad days go away. "But… I am. I am sorry about what happened," he whispered, mostly to himself as he let his head loll back, sea-foam eyes trying to memorize the tiny space. There wasn't much too it— just a bad paint job and some old chairs— but it looked well loved by its owners, a necessary piece to their little store.

After a few moments of silence, Zexion's hoarse coughing dying down, the air going still around them, Demyx decided to move, crawling toward his bag and pulling out his sleeping bag, the downy material of it soft and strangely blood free, saved from the bloody battle even though it had been open at the time. He took a moment to grab Zexion's blankets before crawling back toward him, offering him a little smile as he settled beside him on the wall, throwing the materials over them, the other hesitantly grabbing the corner and pulling it to rest against his skeletal shoulder.

Once they were still, their arms touching beneath the blankets, Demyx spoke, voice soft and steady, eyes drifting closed from both physical exhaustion and the late hour, "You know, I don't want to kill them either. They were people too once, right? It isn't their fault they were infected. They couldn't have wanted this for themselves."

Zexion swallowed thickly beside him, body burrowing into the blanket's warmth. Demyx was trying to make him feel better about the fact that he couldn't shoot it, the infected person trying to tear into him. He didn't know that he was conversing— being kind to a person who didn't deserve it. He didn't know that he was completely wrong about why he couldn't shoot and he didn't know what kind of things he had done in the past, but he was trying. He was trying to justify his near-death. Instead of doing what he was supposed to do, instead of screaming and hurting and hating, he was— He was trying to give him an out.

And Zexion couldn't handle that, his head falling forward to rest against his covered knees, shoulders truly shaking now as he tried not to break, hands coming up to tug at his hair, trying to relieve some of the pressure. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." His voice came out shallow and airy, locked between coughs and repressed sobs.

But Demyx must have heard him, one hand rubbing carefully along his back, the calloused digits catching on the knots in his spine. "Don't worry about it. Everything is okay now."

And all the other could do was shake his head, curling up a little tighter at that, bending forward, toes curling against his socks, the scratchy bandages pulling uncomfortably against his skin. "You don't understand! I didn't want to before— and it shouldn't have even happened. I _couldn't _do it again," he babbled under his breath, voice rough and sore, strangled even as it came from his throat, body shaking because he had to make him understand. He had to make him understand that he didn't mean to, that he didn't want to hurt anyone in the first place.

The blond stopped for a moment, brows furrowing a bit above his oceanic eyes. He didn't really understand what he was trying to say. Most of the words were strung together or spoken too softly for him to really hear them, but it was obviously something important. And he was so upset, body noticeably shaking, hands still tugging at his hair. Demyx didn't know what he was supposed to do.

So he did the only thing he could do. He shushed him quietly and rubbed his back until he fell asleep, mind reeling as he tried to put the fragmented pieces together. They didn't know each other. They weren't friends and they had no reason to care about one another beyond their basic survival needs, but he couldn't be that way. He couldn't just cut someone off. He couldn't just not care about someone who was so obviously hurting. He wasn't like that. He couldn't— _wouldn't_— be like that.

He slumped against the wall, sea-foam eyes taking in the dim light from above, incased in a rather odd light fixture, disjointed glass surrounding the thing.

He and Axel needed to talk.

Soon.

* * *

><p><strong>November 10, 2011<strong>

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><p>"—<em>the side effects of Candall are nothing to worry about." The balding man shot a very serious smile toward the camera, beady black eyes barely crinkling at the movement, a fake sort of thing that did little to relay his message of peace. "While they were not originally part of Candall's testing, we can only expect new side effects to arise when administering medication to such a vast population. They have been none life-threatening, and the patients that have been receiving the drug are still improving. Our expectations are that these side effects will be easily treated with other medications. Are there any—"<em>

Long, knotted fingers pressed at the buttons on the remote, frantic and enflamed, creaking with the movement. That man was wrong, so very wrong. He was paid to stand in front of a crowd and lie, soothe them and talk away all their worries. Take another pill— it will make everything better. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.

"_Good afternoon, Radiant Garden!" The crowd cheered as the hostess smiled that pretty white smile of hers, long brown hair billowing away from her rosy cheeks as she took a seat in the center of the stage, a plush velvet chair positioned just so with a lovely little table only a few inches away. "Now, the hot topic that's been all over the airwaves this week is the new life-saving drug, Candall. It will be released to the public early next week, and the rumors that have been surrounding this little pill since day one have been unbelievable. What doesn—"_

Those fingers moved again, sickened and angry. That woman was just a talk show host. She didn't know anything about medicine. She didn't know anything about the different chemicals that had to go into that little pill. She didn't know anything about the years and years it had taken to make everything just right.

"_We are here live with the latest victim of the recent outbreaks that have been taking place all across the country. Mr. Rafiki, could you please explain what happened," the reporter asked, a rather concerned look alight in his eyes, quite a little act of false sympathy. The man beside him obviously noticed, his old eyes surrounded by lines, white hair sprouted on top of his head._

_Mr. Rafiki nodded slowly, blinking in a way that suggested he was wise well beyond his many years. He rested his palms on the white table in front of him, a shallow breath passing through his lips. "I do not know that there is much to explain. The woman, Daisy, simply collapsed at first. It was perplexing to me at the time, since I have known her for so long. She has always been very healthy, despite her long battle with cancer. Even as a small child, she was hardly ever kept inside with anything more than a cold."_

_The reporter made an appropriately interested sort of noise, regarding the hoarse words coming through the old man's throat. "What happened after she collapsed?"_

"_Mickey Mouse, a young man from the area, rushed to help her," he replied, olden eyes saddened a bit as he recounted the scene. "She attacked him right after. He kept screaming at her to stop, but she did not seem to hear him. Others inside the store tried to get her away from him, but they were unable to get him away in time." _

"_Those that rushed to help him were also the ones that were killed in the attack, correct?" _

"_Yes," Rafiki answered gravely, swallowing as the word escaped. "They were all killed."_

_Young eyes lightened a bit, strangely enticed by the utterance. "Mr. Rafiki, since you were inside the store at the time of the attack, why did you not try to help them?"_

_The man regarded him for a moment, a certain weariness in his bones as he shrank in his seat, his old age revealed in the way his shoulders sagged, the way the lines around his eyes turned downward and deepened in front of the camera. "Sir, I have been around for many years. When an animal gets that look in its eye, the best thing for you to do is run. It will not be coming back." _

_The reported startled a bit, noticeably straightening in his seat, his smile tighter now. "Thank you, Mr. Rafiki. That's all the ti—"_

Fingers pressed at the remote again, their owner sighing as the television before him went off, the power flickering in his confined space. He didn't know how much time had passed since these recording took place. It could have been days, maybe even months ago. It didn't matter now. He wished he could take it back. He wished he knew back then what he did now. He wouldn't have told them that everything was okay. He wouldn't have gone to promotion after promotion, telling the world about his brand new drug, something that was going to save them all.

He wouldn't have lied.

And he didn't know it at the time. Really, truly he didn't. He had thought that he was doing the world a favor, giving them something that they could use to their advantage. He had thought that he was helping people, keeping them safe. That was all he wanted, and it seemed that he had done the exact opposite.

He slumped back in his chair, bones creaking as he moved. He had had a dream once, something that had festered since he was not but a child. He had lost his mother to cancer when he was only a few years old and the impact had been brutal for him and his family. Ever since it had happened, all he wanted to do was cure cancer. All he wanted to do was help people, to keep them from losing someone like he once had. The idea consumed him until he made it a reality.

He worked hard to be the best student while he was in school. He paid his way through one of the best colleges in the country and was recruited by one of the top pharmaceutical companies before he'd even finished his graduate studies. He did his time as an underling. He did all the dirty work for the higher-ups, spending years of his life locked in a lab working on drugs for allergies and sexual satisfaction. It was demeaning and tedious, but he'd done it without complaint, waiting for that perfect moment when he could work on his own drug, his own dream.

And it had happened. It had happened for him years and years later, once he had nearly rotted away in that dungeon of a lab. He was promoted, and it took him less than a week to set everything in motion. His drug would be finished before he died. He had to make sure of that.

So he put everyone to work. He funded research and kept working his way up the ladder, eventually taking over the company. It was everything he could have ever hoped for. He was a powerful man. He was a respected man who was going to change the world.

But what a world he turned it in to.

He had achieved his dream. He had created the medication that could cure cancer and save the world. It just hadn't been everything he had hoped for.

Dreams seldom are.

But it didn't matter. He was paying for it. He wasn't so foolish as to think that all of this would go away. He was Ansem Wise, the man who had created salvation for the world, the man who had ruined everything. There was no going back. If the world ever righted itself again, it would be better off without him in it. Death was his punishment.

Starvation was his choice.

He sighed low in this throat, coughing a bit as he leaned forward, his once well-defined arms nothing but bones beneath his clothes. He was close now, close to death, a strange fuzziness clouding his vision every so often, a tired sort of fog hanging over his every move. This wasn't what he wanted with his life. This wasn't how he wanted to be remembered, but… he would own up to his mistakes. He would take responsibility for the lives he had ruined, for the people he had hurt. And while he couldn't do much for them now, the world already so lost beneath the chaos, he could do this.

Long, knotted fingers fumbled with the remote.

"_Candall is the brand new cure-all drug that will be hitting the shelves next we—"_

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><p>"How's your neck doing," Roxas asked, leaning back against the cab of the truck as they rode along the winding countryside, dead leaves covering the ground, the sun high above them now that it was afternoon. They had left the gas station early that morning, Demyx and Zexion taking their separate turns in the bathroom— Axel wouldn't leave them alone together— and Roxas more or less packing the truck to the brim with the snacks he'd managed to salvage from the wreckage. So far, they'd made it a fairly long way, though they weren't even in sight of the next city yet. Which was depressing. Roxas didn't even want to think about how long it would have taken them to walk this far.<p>

Zexion shrugged a bit, his head tilted to the side as he almost self-consciously brought his fingers to his neck, the digits themselves rather nasty looking now that the bandages were gone, the skin reddened by barely healed scratches, bruised a sickening shade of purple and green. "Fine," he mumbled, his voice airy, body curling a little tighter to fight off the growing chill, his thin jacket clinging to his skin.

In all honesty, he wasn't very worried about his neck. It would heal up in a few days. He was much more concerned with the way he had acted before, allowing himself to break down like that in front of someone he didn't know. He shouldn't have done that. He was stressed and exhausted and his body felt like it was trying to give out on him, but he shouldn't have done that. His troubles, his worries were his own.

Demyx didn't understand anyway.

"Eh." The blond scrunched his nose, freckles contorting a bit. He didn't sound particularly fine, but whatever. It wasn't really his problem to worry about. He did, of course— worry a bit about all of them. He was lying when he said didn't. He didn't really know them, but he knew some things.

He knew that Axel had a brother that was probably dead. He knew that Demyx kept smiling even when there wasn't really anything to smile about. He knew that Zexion let someone strangle him and then didn't even bother to ask for an apology once it was all over. It wasn't much, but he couldn't help but care a little bit, even when he tried not to. They were all still human. And he needed that, to be around humans for a while, to not be on his own. Because it was terrifying.

It was completely terrifying to be all by himself. He'd been okay before. He'd stayed hidden; he'd stayed safe. But there was always that fear. That fear that every day was going to be his last, that he was never going to get to see his brother again, that he was never going to be able to experience being a teenager again. And being with these three didn't really fix that. It didn't guarantee anything for him. He could still die. He could still never get to see Sora again. He could still never be able to be a teenager again.

But it helped.

Being with other people really did help. So he couldn't help but care. He couldn't help but care about the way that Axel flew off the handle, the way he obviously cared so much about his brother but couldn't jeopardize the rest of them by stopping to look for him. He couldn't help but care about the way that Demyx had begged Axel to stop, the way he had laughed carelessly with him only hours before. And he really couldn't help but care about the way that Zexion didn't seem bothered by the abuse, the way his body seemed used to the bruises.

It was only human, wasn't it? Caring about someone else? He wasn't the best person in the world. He didn't care much about following the rules because they were only there to be broken anyway. He didn't bother with politeness because it only got in the way, and he had an attitude problem that he didn't really care to work on. He wasn't perfect. He knew that. But he was human and he couldn't just ignore everything.

Awkwardly, he smiled at the other, body turning in just the slightest way. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to say. He had never really been good with dealing with people who were sad or closed off. He and Sora used to always joke that they were separate parts of one another, perfect halves, and this was obviously something that his half wasn't very good at. "He'll ease up soon. Axel, I mean."

Zexion regarded him a little warily, head tilted slightly to the side, cheek resting against his jean-clad knee, the dirty denim scratching uncomfortably against his skin. "He didn't really do anything."

Roxas grimaced, icy blue eyes a little disbelieving, body leaning a little closer in the hopes that he had misheard him. Now, that didn't make any sense at all. Axel had obviously done something to him, the skin along his neck evidence enough. "He tried to kill you," he stated, voice level.

"He was trying to keep Demyx safe," he replied without a moment's hesitation, silvery-blue eyebrows furrowing, the circles beneath his eyes seemingly more visible than ever.

The blond just stared at him, honey-like hair blowing around his face in short little tuffs, the truck speeding up as they made their way down a particularly steep hill. "That's not an excuse. People don't do that to each other."

"Of course they do," Zexion scoffed, an odd sort of sound coming from his raw throat.

Roxas paused, back straightening as to what that alluded to, questions and inquiries bubbling up in his mind. He opened his mouth as if to speak before letting it snap closed, mouth quirking to the side, pink lips turned a bit at their corners. If Zexion was okay with letting it go, he supposed he should be too.

After all, there were some things he really didn't need to know.

* * *

><p>"Hey, I brought you something to eat."<p>

Deep blue eyes startled at the bowl that appeared in front of his nose, the button-like appendage scrunching a bit at the odd smell wafting from it. Carefully, he straightened, body stiffening a bit as he did so, the layers of his clothes rubbing unforgivingly against him as they were trapped between rough tree bark and his tender skin. "You didn't need to."

Demyx just rolled his eyes, plopping down in front of him with little ceremony, dirty blond hair falling about his face in little wisps, chapped lips pulled into a friendly sort of smile. "But I wanted to." He pushed the bowl a little closer, Zexion jerking back at the motion with wide eyes before finally taking it, bruised fingers brushing against the disposable plastic, the bowl surprisingly warm to the touch.

Zexion regarded him for a moment, eyes shifting back and forth from the bowl to that tangled mess of dirty blond hair. It wasn't a lot of food, some garbled mess of soup that was obviously made by someone without the slightest idea of how to cook, what looked to be crushed gas station crackers swimming along the edges. And it smelled kind of strange, like a high school cooking class always smelled at the end of the day, after everything had been cooked a little too long and then thrown in the trash.

But it was nice.

It was nice that Demyx thought enough about him to bring him food. It was nice that Demyx thought enough about him to bring his own bowl and sit with him. And it was nice that Demyx _cared _enough about him to do this for him at all, even after he'd nearly gotten him killed, after he'd broken down in front of him.

"Thanks," he mumbled under his breath, voice a little hoarse.

The blond winced a bit at the sound, but smiled back at him nonetheless, oceanic eyes turned a little upward. "Axel and Roxas are fighting over what we should do if we get attacked by another horde tonight, so I figured that I'd come over here with you where it's safe." He tilted his head to the side a bit, pointing a bit toward the fire several yards away. Zexion followed the movement a little skeptically, lips tightening a bit at the scene taking place around the barely smoking fire. Roxas and Axel were both sitting, but from the way their mouths were moving, the faintest hint of voices trailing every few seconds, their hands gesturing into the air, it was obvious that they were verbally sparring again.

And he wasn't really surprised. They'd been fighting with one another since the very beginning. It was only natural for them to continue.

He watched them for a few minutes, silence surrounding them as the bowl in his hands cooled against his fingertips, hair curtaining his face, before turning forward once again, neck enflaming a bit at the movement. He nibbled at his lower lip, damaged pieces coming off to leave bloody little trails to be flicked away by his tongue. "Does Axel know," he finally asked, a shallow sort of sound accented by an indifferent tone.

Demyx blinked at him, his own bowl of soup spinning in a slow circle, held up by his calloused fingertips. "So you noticed that too, huh?" He quirked his mouth to the side, a humorless sort of smile gracing his lips. He didn't bother to explain what he meant. It was obvious that they both knew— Axel hadn't left them alone together since they'd woken up, the redhead constantly there to supervise or pull Demyx away when they got too close. Zexion didn't really mind it; it was probably for the best. "I talked to him about it earlier, but," he winced a bit, recounting the way that Axel had clammed up with his hands around the steering wheel, the way his voice had gotten quiet as he sidestepped everything Demyx tried to tell him, "I don't think he's going to ease up any time soon."

Zexion nodded, already expecting it. He didn't particularly like Axel. He was loud where he was quiet, demanding in a way that reminded him a bit too much of his father. He wasn't particularly good about listening to others, and he was a little too brash for his tastes. But, even so, Zexion had a distant sort of respect for him. Axel didn't always know what he was doing, but he was good enough at hiding it that it didn't particularly matter. He didn't have a problem with speaking his mind, and he was willing to do whatever it took to survive.

Axel would have never hesitated.

He sighed a little at the thought, eyes glazing over a bit as he took a bite of soup, the liquid lukewarm now, easily sliding down his throat despite the bland taste and swollen tissue. "Why are you here?"

The blond quirked an eyebrow at him, leaning forward in just the slightest sort of way, an uneasy smile sliding across his lips. "I already told you, remember? They're fighting again."

Slate brows rose a bit, deep blue eyes meeting oceanic orbs, bruised fingers bending uncomfortably. "Axel wouldn't want you over here," he continued like he hadn't really heard him, voice quiet but serious, body straightening a bit as he watched him.

Demyx huffed under his breath, chapped lips falling into the first scowl Zexion had ever seen him wear, those sea-like eyes of his narrowed a little in something like annoyance. "Yeah, well… Axel doesn't get to decide everything for me. Especially when he's wrong," he muttered, crossing his arms across his chest, body tensing a bit as he spoke.

And Axel was wrong. Demyx didn't think that Zexion had done anything to deserve the redhead's skepticism. He wasn't much of a fighter and he was obviously injured, but he hadn't done anything at all to hurt either of them. He had helped out where he could, and he hadn't complained about anything. So he couldn't shoot one of the infected. He couldn't shoot it. So, what? That wasn't really a reason to physically hurt someone or treat them like they didn't exist. He wasn't dangerous. He wasn't going to just get up and attack them one day.

He was still human, and he deserved to be treated as such. That's what Demyx thought anyway.

"So," Zexion trailed, boredom replacing the disappointment he felt deep in his gut, "you're here to get back at Axel?" And he didn't know why he felt so hurt by that thought, a nasty little pang in his chest. But he should have expected it. People didn't do things for no reason. It was a rule, and it was a rule that Demyx was no exception to.

The blond's eyes saddened a bit at that, his body sagging. He knew what the other meant by that. He obviously thought that he was being nice to him for the sake of proving Axel wrong. And maybe he was right in a way. Demyx really did want to show the redhead how wrong he was about Zexion, but, at the same time, he also wanted to get to know him. To be nice to him for the sake of being nice to him.

The others were all trying to stay at arm's length. They were trying to stay as distant from each other as possible, and he just couldn't do that. He couldn't be around someone that was obviously hurting and not try to ease some of it away. Demyx couldn't be the kind of guy that just ignored it. He couldn't do it. And it hurt a little, being around someone with so little faith in his intentions, being around someone who was always questioning his motives.

He wasn't doing this to prove anything. He just wanted to make him feel better— to know why he didn't fight back and became so upset before. And then make it all go away. That was all he wanted. It wasn't a lot. Really, it wasn't.

"No," Demyx answered steadily, a sad little curve to his lips, oceanic eyes wide and honest. "It's just— I wanted—," he cut himself off with a shaky sort of sigh, sheepishly pushing his dirty blond hair away from his face. "It's just that… you looked lonely."

And Zexion didn't know what to say to that, instinctively jerking a bit at the admittance, body relaxing a little in something like disbelief. He hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected that at all. "I'm n—," he abruptly shut his mouth, the sound of wheels on gravel reaching his ears. Demyx must have heard it too, body twisting around to face the road.

And there was definitely a truck coming up the path, its oversized wheels easily, if noisily, coming toward them. It started to slow the closer it came, stopping parallel to the tree, its engine roaring before shutting off.

The dirty blond stood up slowly, setting his disposable red bowl on the ground, the dark broth spilling over the side as it tilted, seeping into the deadened grass. The truck's windows were tinted, but he could faintly make out shadows behind the glass. They were twisting a bit, moving as if they were turning toward one another.

And part of him was elated. Part of him was happy to see other people, to see people like them who were still living and breathing and trying to survive. But the other part, a slightly larger part, wanted to hide. Because something didn't feel right about this. Something didn't feel right at all.

The passenger side door opened, the cherry red paint and darkened windows giving way to reveal a thin frame with shoulder length blonde hair, blue-green eyes wide open, face plastered with a smile. It was a girl. A wispy looking girl in dark blue jeans and a yellow and pink jacket, strangely clean with pearly white teeth. And there was something very wrong with that picture, smiling like there was nothing for her to worry about, clean like she had just had a bath.

"Hello," she smiled, waving at them with her voice light and airy as she came a little closer, body whirling away from them to turn back to her driver. "Come on, Marluxia. Don't be such a grouch." The man still within the truck— Marluxia— just rolled his eyes, climbing out through her door, all pink layered hair and broad shoulders. She continued toward them, her hands placed in the back pockets of her jeans, the man following along behind her, smiling for himself now.

And if felt wrong.

He straightened his stance a little bit, hearing Zexion stand instead of watching him, his sea-like eyes trained on the two figures coming closer. They didn't look particularly threatening, body language relaxed, eyes wide and innocent. But they were both so clean, and they looked like they were healthy— not bruised like Zexion, not thinning like Demyx and the rest of them. There was just something very off about the two.

"Can we help you," he asked politely, his voice wavering a little at the end. Axel and Roxas had stopped their bickering, their voices having trailed off moments ago. He just hoped that they noticed all of this, that Axel would be getting him out of this mess and taking over like he always did.

"If you would," the girl said, voice sickeningly sweet as she came up beside them, her hands still in her back pockets, non-threatening with a certain kind of gleam in her eye. Demyx unconsciously moved to shield Zexion a bit more, backing up a step to push his body a little closer to the tree, a little farther away from prying eyes.

"You see," the man started, hand coming up to push back his strange pink hair, crystal blue eyes glancing back and forth between his tightening form and the frailer one he was protecting, "Larxene and I are a little lost." His voice seemed pleasant enough, honest enough, but it wasn't quite right. It was like he was reading from a script.

"Oh," Demyx made a little noise in the back of his throat, reaching behind him to touch at Zexion's arm, to keep him in place even as Larxene circled a little closer. "Umm, where are you trying to go?"

Marluxia laughed a bit, grimacing a badly constructed smile, broad shoulders shaking a bit in what nearly mirrored embarrassment. "Anywhere. I have no idea where we are."

The lithe little blonde scoffed in the back of her throat, those eyes of hers rolling with an upward tilt of her brow. "He got us lost days ago."

"I did not," he grumbled back, a weird little waver in his voice. "We just got a little turned around."

"A little," she snorted, inching a bit closer to his side, eyes shifting in the same way Marluxia's had, analyzing the space between them, the way that Demyx kept Zexion behind him, the way Zexion just kept his mouth shut, his deep blue eyes curtained by his slate colored hair.

"Anyway," Marluxia rolled his eyes at her, a false sort of movement, crystal blue locking with greenish-blue for just the slightest moment, "could you tell us where we are?"

"Uh, yeah. This is abo—," he cut himself off with a nervous little sound, the man in front of him grinning at him, leering at him. "We're about halfway between Olympus and Agrabah right now."

"Oh, excellent." And he did indeed sound delighted at the news. "Larxene, you have family there, don't you?" She nodded without really looking at him, smiling a nasty looking smile, eyes watching Zexion. "How exactly do we get there? Follow this road here and keep going, or…," he trailed a bit, voice tilting at the end into a question.

Demyx just swallowed, touching at the fabric of Zexion's jacket with his fingertips, oceanic eyes a little too wide. "I'm actually not all that good with directions. I mean, Axel's a lot better with that kind of stuff. Maybe I should ask him," he shot him an edgy sort of smile, panicking a bit as he turned his head slightly to the side. Axel and Roxas had both left the fire, but he couldn't see much farther than that. He hoped they were coming.

"Oh, we wouldn't want to be a bother."

"No, really— it's okay. I'll just—," he cut himself off, turning his head completely now. "Axel!"

And that was enough.

Larxene darted forward, pushing at his side and grabbing Zexion around the wrist, pulling him away from Demyx's slack grip and thrusting him out toward Marluxia, his thin frame falling easily into his broad grasp, a hand seizing Zexion's waist, a knife digging into his already bruised throat.

"So, here's what's going to happen," Marluxia explained, tapping the knife against his throat, crystal blue eyes taking in the way Demyx's breath caught at the motion. "Your two little friends are going to come stand by you— the blond by our truck and the redhead behind the tree— and the three of you are going to surrender all of your weapons. Then, you're going to gather up all of your supplies and give them to us."

"And if we refuse," Axel snarled, coming out from behind him, crowbar in hand, red hair knotted around his neck.

"I gut him," he smiled pleasantly, "and the three of you get to watch. First, I'll slice off his little ears. And then, I'll gouge out his eyes. And I might kill him after that, slit his throat— but only if he screams too much. It does get so tiresome to listen to them, you know."

Zexion didn't flinch at the news, body pulled taut, breath shallow and trapped in his chest as he tried to keep his neck still, the knife bouncing along his skin every few moments. He could feel the man's breath at his neck.

"Fine. Do it," the redhead grumbled, acidic green eyes trained on crystal blue, a sick sort of smile turning at his lips. Marluxia raised an eyebrow, but shrugged his shoulders like it didn't matter, pulling the knife up a little higher to rest near Zexion's right ear, Larxene sneering beside him.

"No, no! Stop! Axel didn't mean it," Demyx screeched, arms coming up in surrender, sea-foam eyes wide as he watched the knife. "We'll do whatever you say. Just don't— Don't do that. Please, please don't do that."

Larxene leaned into Marluxia's side, pretty blonde hair falling against him. "Good, boy. Now, call your other little friend— the blond one."

He nodded frantically. "Roxas! Roxas," he called, ignoring the way that Axel all but hissed against him, tugging at his arms, trying to get him to stop. He didn't care.

Roxas came forward fairly quickly at the sound, body tight, his head held high as he came from the other side of the cherry red truck, icy blue eyes narrowed. He obviously knew what was going on, coming forward with little prompting, sidestepping their two uninvited guests to rest near Demyx. "How do we end this?"

Marluxia laughed a bit, a humorous sort of sound that made Demyx's blood curl in his veins. "You could start by dropping your weapons." Roxas watched him warily, button-like nose scrunching a bit, freckles contorting. "Come now, it isn't so hard. You drop that little knife of yours and he drops the crowbar. It'll save your little friend's face. And we all want that, don't we?"

The honey blond snarled in the back of his throat, growling a bit, but he did what he was told, throwing the knife at their feet with an unnecessary amount of force, the blade of it sticking in the dirt. Axel just tightened his grip, muscles pulling a bit as he straightened himself. "No."

"Oh? Well, alright," Marluxia smirked, putting a bit of pressure on the knife, a faint line of skin tearing apart, ruby red blood dripping down to pull at his sharp little chin.

"Stop!" Demyx grabbed the crowbar from Axel's hands, tugging it away and throwing it to the ground, a surprising amount of force behind the action, eyes so very wide as they memorized that trail, the way that Zexion didn't even flinch as it happened. This wasn't okay. This wasn't okay. _This wasn't okay_. "Just let him go. We'll do whatever you want."

Larxene laughed, coming around to Zexion's other side, her fingers running across his cheek, nails pulling at the bruises. "It looks like someone cares about you, hmm," she hummed, eyes gleaming, voice whispered into his non-threatened ear.

"Cute," the pink haired man made an amused sort of sound in the back of his throat, watching them carefully. "Now, be good little boys and go get the supplies."

"Not a damn chance in hell," Axel growled, grabbing Demyx's wrist to keep him in place, grip tight enough for him to know to keep his mouth shut. Roxas didn't move, icy blue eyes watching them, a little apprehensive of the way that Marluxia was tip-tapping that knife.

"You seem to have such a problem with following directions," he mumbled with a little sigh. "Do tell me, is it just with me, or do you just not like authority? Have a bad experience or two before?" Axel squared his jaw, acidic eyes narrowing, shifting from him to Zexion, deep blue pools meeting him a little questioningly. He smiled a bit, gesturing almost imperceptibly to Demyx with a silent sort of plan. Zexion closed his eyes, slowly blinking out what he hoped the other took as an understanding.

"I don't know. You tell me, fucker," he growled low in his throat, inching a little closer to Demyx, the hand that wasn't around the dirty blond's wrist coming to rest near the small of his back.

Marluxia looked vaguely offended by that, head tilting a bit. "Now, there's no need for name calling. It's very rude, you know."

Axel snorted, hand moving under Demyx's jacket, the dirty blond tensing against him, eyes widening at the feel of cool metal against his back. The redhead tightened his grip on him a bit more, knuckles turning white in the hopes that he understood what he was doing, that he realized that this was how things were going to have to play out. He shifted his eyes back toward Zexion, acid meeting deep blue, a quick little nod being the only acknowledgement he gave.

"Rude," he huffed out, hand coming back up the blond's back, the heavy metal held carefully in his hand. "I'll show you rude," he continued under his breath, whispered too quietly for the others to make out.

"What was that," Marluxia asked, voice hardening a bit, crystal blue eyes watching him carefully, narrowed in just the slightest way.

Axel just smirked at him, shouldering Demyx out of the way as he straightened the gun, Zexion turning his head to the side as the shot went off.

And thus, the screaming began.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Haha, cliffhangers. Gotta love 'em.**

**First off, I want to apologize for any weirdness in this chapter. Today was the first day I got to work on it during the day instead of having to wait until I was half dead at midnight. (I've been babysitting small children.) And I also apologize for any editing mistakes. I've checked over it, but I'm sure I've missed some things. **

**Anyway, I don't have a lot to say about this chapter. I'm trying to get the characters to interact a bit more, but they're fighting me on it. A lot, honestly. It was kind of fun to do a bit more with Roxas in this chapter though, since I didn't get to do much with him in Keys and Kissing. I wanted to bring a bit of that sass from his opening chapter back (he and Axel are admittedly fun for me to write), but I also wanted to show that he's still very human as well. It's an odd process, especially in putting him in a scene with just Zexion.**

**Demyx and Zexion were a lot harder in this chapter, simply because Zexion did not want to come across well. His break down in the third scene of the chapter was a little different for me and I'm not sure how well it worked, so give me your opinion on that? I wanted a bit more of his inner turmoil to come out, but I'm a bit iffy on it. **

**Also, Ansem was in this chapter. His scene was an add-in, but I really wanted to bring him into this and show that he didn't intend to cause all of this. How well do you think it worked? **

**Oh, and the last scene was sort of a request from the beta. She wanted a scene with Lexaeus and Marluxia driving around in a truck, so I did half of it. I wasn't so sure how to make Lexaeus seem non-threatening, considering his size. Hope the altered version works! **

**Production: I'm hoping to have the next chapter up by next Sunday. Don't quote me on it, but that's the plan. **

**Question: A character question again. What do you think about Roxas? How is his interaction with the other characters? Do you like him more after his scene with Zexion? Does the second scene with Axel fit his personality better? Do you think it was wrong of him to do what Marluxia said without question? Should he have been more risky, like Axel?**

**Quiz Winners: Shadow of a Fallen Angel and Dk7890. **

**Quiz Answer: Sora and Riku. Sora is the younger twin brother of Roxas.**

**New Quiz: Who was betrayed in this chapter and how was it done? There are multiple answers, but I'm looking for one specifically. **

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). ^_^**


	7. Forgiveness

**Just...read the ending author's note, please?**

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle…_**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. **

****Also, this chapter is not betaed. All mistakes are my own. If you find anything, please let me know.** I'll fix them as best as I can.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>"Grandma said it was time to come inside," the brunet mumbled, yawning broadly, oceanic eyes wide and tired. He was no stranger to late nights— few teenagers are— but this was getting ridiculous. They'd been waiting for hours for his brother to come inside. And really, he didn't care if he stayed outside until dawn. It was his own choice. It was just that Grandma didn't let them eat unless <em>everyone<em> was at the dinner table— stupid brother included.

Roxas didn't really mind him, choosing instead to stalk back to the end of the concrete driveway, tattered old skateboard in hand, fists clenched with white knuckles. This was stupid and ridiculous and he was going to make it work if it killed him. He wasn't a child. He didn't need some upperclassman to show him how it was done. He would figure it out himself— and tomorrow, he'd be the one laughing.

Angrily, he dropped his board to the ground, kicking his sneakers a bit to make sure they were tight and secure. He eyed the ramp at the end of the drive, positioned just so. All he had to do was gain enough speed to come off the ramp in a flip. It shouldn't be that hard. Just a little twisting before he had to stick the landing. Really. He could do that. It just took practice. A lot of practice.

He placed his foot on the board, making sure the pressure was just right, the balance was perfect. Determined, he took a deep breath, honey blond hair tickling at his ears, sweat running down his forehead in the spring-coated air. Sora was watching him lazily from the front porch, arms crossed over his chest, bare feet tap-tapping against the old floorboards with something like impatience. He was already in his pajamas, a long pair of flannel pants sagging around his waist, his chest exposed, thin ribcage and all.

The blond stopped before he started, huffing a bit with an exasperated sort of noise, fingers knotting in his hair. "Can you go away? I'll be in in a minute!" And he was sure he would be. Really. He was so close to having it last time. Only a time or two more and he would have it. He just didn't think he could do it with Sora standing there watching him. It was nerve-racking in a way it shouldn't be.

"No," Sora called, leaning against one of the porch's many textured beams, slightly drooping brown spikes flattening on one side. "I'm hungry! I'm staying out here until you come in!"

"Fine, suit yourself." Roxas rolled his eyes, icy pools twisting a bit as he readjusted his board and prepared to take the plunge once again. He could do this. He was sure he could.

So, he settled his weight on the board, sneakers locking into place. He shifted his shoulders a bit to the side for balance, fists clenching and unclenching against his sides. He had to make it this time— Sora was watching.

With one final deep breath, he kicked off, one foot balancing precariously on the skateboard, the other pushing against the concrete, gaining speed as he zoomed down the slope. He was vaguely aware of Sora's eyes on him as he hit the wooden ramp, the wheels jumping a bit as he hit, the board jostling underneath him. And then he was up in the air, body twisting and turning over the cement as he continued to move down the hill.

By the time he was completely turned around, he was smiling, pretty white teeth showing just for him. Sora was still up by the house, far away from him now. It was just him, the late night air, and the skateboard. He was doing this. He'd figured it out. There was nothing that wou—

He hit the ground with a sickening crash, his body hurtling onto the unforgiving pavement, his arm twisting behind his back, his skateboard lost somewhere in the fray.

He somehow always forgot about the landing.

"Roxas! Oh my— shit, Rox! What the hell was that," Sora roared, concerned and angry all at once as he came running from the house, bare feet skimming across the ground, thin frame screeching to a halt as soon as he reached him, tiny toes curling against the cement.

The blond just groaned, doubling over even as he tried to sit up, coughing with blood staining the ground beneath him. Sora was fluttering now, breathing heavily as he scurried around him, apprehensively rubbing at his back. Part of Roxas was thankful because it soothed the ache in his spine, but the other part of him— a slightly smaller part— was angry. Because Sora just saw that. Someone else saw that. "That was a bitch landing," he choked as soon as he caught his breath, his forehead resting against the cool pavement, blue eyes trying to fight away the blackness swimming in his vision.

"Oh, no. Really? You think," the brunet scoffed, plopping down beside him on the drive. "I certainly hope that wasn't _supposed_to happen."

And Roxas laughed, pulling himself up to rest on his behind and heels, face contorting in both laughter and pain. "No. That's not exactly how it's supposed to work. Close though."

Sora stared at him a little disbelievingly before shaking his head, mouth curving a bit. And then, his eyes glazed, blinking at the sight of him as if this was the first time he'd bothered to look at the damage. He stood quickly, smile slipping from his face like it had never even been there in the first place, big blue eyes panicked. "You just stay here. I'm going to go get Grandma and Grandpa and we're going to take you to the hospital, okay," he swallowed thickly, gaze wandering over him with something like terror crossing his face. "Just stay here and don't move or you'll make it worse."

Roxas stopped him before he could go, grabbing onto his pajama pants with little ceremony, left hand shaking at the pressure. He didn't want to go to the hospital. He could feel the blood sliding down the side of his face and the scrapes and bruises burning against his skin, but they would heal. He'd be fine. His right arm hurt more than it should— so much more than it ever had— but he really didn't need to go to the hospital. That wouldn't help anything.

And then everyone would know. They'd all know that he couldn't do it.

"Don't," he sucked in a breath of air as soon as the word left his mouth, teeth grinding together. His arm. There was something seriously wrong with his arm. "Really, Sora. This is nothing. Grandma and Grandpa have enough to worry about without you making them flip out over nothing."

The brunet crossed his arms, sinking back to the ground with narrowed eyes. "Your face is bleeding," he stated rather matter of factually. "And your arm's all twisted up and—," he growled, a strangely angry sound coming from someone normally so docile. "What were you even doing? Have you been wiping out like that all night?"

He hung his head, blond hairs sticking to his forehead from more than just the sweat now, his still mobile arm coming up to press at the cut along his hairline. He had been. This was obviously the worst of them, but it was by no means the first crash of the night. He was fairly certain that he would have been black and blue in the morning with or without this particular fall. "Maybe," he sighed, shifting his weight a bit to keep the pressure off his arm, a weird sort of numbing feeling starting to settle over the pain. Sora made a shocked little noise in the back of his throat and all Roxas could do was roll his eyes. "Look, Sora, it's no big deal. I'm just learning a new trick. Like you do when you go rollerblading. You're supposed to fall down."

"Not like that," Sora shot back at him, leaning against his palms. "I don't keep going like that. And you normally don't either. Why on earth would you be out here in the middle of the night with that thing? I thought you said you were going to wait before you started trying to fl…," he trailed off before he could get the word out, eyes lighting up like they'd just figured it out, those blue pools watching his face warily. "This is about earlier, isn't it? Those guys at the skate park?"

"No," Roxas quickly denied, grimacing at how desperate his voice sounded, button nose scrunching. He really was an awful liar.

The brunet crossed his arms at him, voice instantly softening in that comforting way it often did, "Is it because they laughed? You know they were just messing around." Roxas bit his bottom lip, trying to ignore the pain racking his body, trying to fight back the tears forming in his eyes. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't let himself cry in front of Sora. "They're in high school, Rox. No one expects you to be as good as them. They've had more practice; you know that."

The blond sniffled a bit, trying to hide it with a shake of his head. It didn't matter that they were in high school and that he was only in middle school. He could be just as good as them. "They said I couldn't do it." And he could. He really, really could. The teachers were wrong. The kids at school were wrong. He could do anything he wanted. He could be the best at everything if he wanted to be. There was nothing wrong with him.

Sora stopped for a moment, watching him through those big blue eyes. Oh. That's what it was. "Of course, you can," he smiled, a reassuringly genuine smile stretching across his lips, a little roll in his eyes. "But just because you _can_doesn't mean you _should_. Not right now at least. Give it a few years." He stopped, jolting backward a bit as his eyes travelled over him for just the slightest moment. "You know, I bet any one of them would be screaming their ass off after falling like that."

Roxas chuckled, one lone tear sliding down his cheek and mingling with the lessening stream of blood. "It fucking hurts," he admitted, smiling with his pretty white teeth, a thin layer of red covering the bottom row, a split lip and cracked gums to blame.

The brunet quirked his mouth to the side. "So," he hummed in that amused singsong voice of his, "can I go get Grandma and Grandpa now?"

Icy blue eyes lit up in amusement. "Yeah. And painkillers. Get those too."

Sora nodded, crossing his arms once he got to his feet, one hip jutting out to the side. "This means no dinner, doesn't it?"

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><p><strong>November 10, 2011<strong>

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><p>What happened next was chaos.<p>

Marluxia released his grip on Zexion's waist, screaming as Zexion kicked his shin, falling to the ground and scrambling away, the offending knife coming down near his hip. Roxas was beside him immediately, scrambling on the ground for his own weapon, body squirming toward Larxene as soon as it was up. Her thin frame hit the grass with a sharp kick to the knee, the honey blond easily straddling her with the knife at her throat, body pinning her much like he had Axel. The redhead rushed forward, grabbing Zexion's hand and pulling him to his feet, only to push him back toward Demyx, the dirty blond crushing him to his chest as soon as he was secured, the gun in his hands now, steady even as he shook.

"You shot me! You fucking _shot_ me," Marluxia screamed and screamed and screamed, cradling his bloody hand, the bullet having obviously gone straight through the boney tissue, a clear, gaping wound open in his palm. Zexion watched out of the corner of his deep blue eyes as the redhead stalked closer to the pink haired man, the crowbar in hand, tightly held between skinny fingers, knuckles white. He looked angry. Angrier than he'd ever seen him. Even angrier than he'd been after he'd messed up.

Axel swung the crowbar through the air, the other sidestepping to get out of the way, stumbling backward in the process. As soon as his back hit the ground, Axel was upon him, one of his dust-coated shoes digging into his chest, the crowbar held menacingly near his head. "So," the redhead smirked, a wide sort of thing that was almost feral, "let's make a new deal. You and the blonde bitch get back in your truck and we never— and I do mean _never__—_see you again.

"Or," he paused, licking his lips, "I let you watch as my friend over there guts your little girlfriend. And then, only then, will I beat you black and green. When I'm done— you know, when you start screaming too much or my arm starts to get tired, I'll drive you all the way back to Olympus and leave you for those _things_. How does that sound? Pleasant, isn't it?"

Zexion felt Demyx straighten against him, almost subconsciously pulling him closer to into him, the side of his head buried into his chest. He was shaking, the hand holding the gun remaining steady, trained on Marluxia's trembling form, but the other hand, the one holding Zexion to him, was quivering against his spine, jerking in random sort of movements. And it was tightening, crushing him against him, locking him in place.

"And if I refuse," Marluxia spat, a remarkable feat for someone so obviously terrified, those crystal eyes wide, his once clean shirt knotted over his gushing hand.

Axel hummed, that smile still stretched across his lips. "Oh, I'm so glad you asked," he mimicked the other's tone from before, a singsong kind of thing that was much nicer than the words he spoke. "Roxy, baby, have at her."

The blond hesitated for just a moment, icy blue eyes wide, literally feeling the way the blonde trembled against him, before recognizing what Axel was doing, cleanly bringing the knife down to her throat. He tip-tapped it against her jugular and smiled at the way her lips quivered, her jaw clenched. "Oh, goodie," he mumbled against her, freckles littered across his nose, the knife's blade coming down a little harder.

"No! Stop! We'll leave, we'll leave, we'll leave," he repeated like a mantra, good hand held up in surrender. Roxas couldn't help but roll his eyes. He'd barely even touched her before the man had broken.

The redhead smiled pleasantly at that, grinding his foot into Marluxia's stomach, nose scrunching in barely concealed disgust. "I thought you might," he growled, pulling away to stand beside him, crowbar straightened in front of him as he stumbled to his feet, crystal blue eyes glancing toward the two blonds eye to eye on the ground. Axel caught on quickly. "Oh, no. I'm not stupid. You go get in your truck, and only after will I let your girl go."

"You're lying," Marluxia growled, utterly convinced as he took a threatening step forward.

Axel swung the crowbar, a warning that was well received. "Who knows," he shrugged. "You certainly won't if you don't get back in that truck."

The pink haired man snarled at him, carefully watching his eyes as he glanced between him and Larxene, the smaller boy on top of her, obviously very experienced with wielding that knife. He could try to rush forward and gain the upper hand on the redhead— he certainly had the physical strength to do so— but he doubted he would be able to keep him down for long. Not with one hand, not before Larxene's throat was slit. He really had no choice but to concede.

So he did, taking a deep breath and slowly backing away, blood oozing from his hand as he made his way up the slight little hill that led to his truck. He cast one last look at Larxene before taking a seat inside, sliding over to the driver's side, wrapping his hand with what looked to be a rag. And Axel just smiled at him, mouthing a _"Good Boy" _before glancing over his shoulder at his partner in crime. He gave a nod to Roxas, and the blond was up like he'd never been there in the first place, the knife held against his palm, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

Larxene looked at him for a moment, blue-green eyes angry instead of fearful, upper lip curled to expose her teeth, her body tense, obviously prepared for another fight. Icy blue eyes glanced back at her, nonchalant, a quirk in pink lips. And then she was up, slowly making her way back to the cherry red pick-up truck, a more dignified exist than her counterpart.

Then, just like that, they were gone, the slam of a door and the cranking of an engine the last of them.

Axel dropped his crowbar to the ground, stretching with his arms over his head, knuckles popping in their sockets. He almost wanted to laugh, the adrenaline running up and down his spine with nowhere to go. They'd done it. They'd gotten rid of them. Zexion was still alive and they still had their supplies. They were okay.

He turned back toward the others with a little swing in his step, a genuine smile stretching across his lips this time. Demyx had put the gun away, but it looked as though he hadn't loosened his grip on Zexion, the other pushing against him meekly with wide eyes. Roxas was coming closer as well, meeting back at the tree with the same thought Axel had had, the knife tucked carefully into his pocket like it always was. He was glaring at him, those icy blue eyes of his narrowed, that mouth set in a thin line. The redhead couldn't help but smile a little wider. "What?"

"_Roxy, baby,_" he quoted, crossing his arms over his chest, an unmistakable mask to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Hey," Axel shrugged, "it was part of the ruse. Sounded better in my head than your name."

The honey blond's mouth quirked, upper body leaning forward. "You ever call me that again and you'll _wish _you'd been gutted."

"Ouch," the redhead grimaced, feigning hurt, giving into the uncharacteristic need to just be a teenager again. "Why do you wound me?"

"Because you're an ass," Roxas reasoned, shrugging a bit, the real smile on his face contrasting the bite in his words. But he couldn't make himself fake it. He felt elated. Completely and utterly elated. They were all still alive. They'd made it and they were still okay. They were surviving. Still wondrously surviving. Right here, right now, he couldn't— wouldn't— ask for anything more.

"Blasphemy," he exclaimed, glancing toward the dirty blond. "You know I'm not, don't you, Dem?" Demyx uncharacteristically didn't return the smile, jaw clenching, oceanic eyes wide and so obviously angry. "Demyx," Axel tried, smile falling from his lips, acidic green eyes taking in the way that Zexion was pushing against the dirty blond's chest, squirming to get away, but Demyx wasn't doing anything. He wasn't loosening his grip; he wasn't letting him go. "Demyx, you need to let Zexion go," he said slowly, voice leveled with concern.

And Demyx did just that, letting him go with such force that he nearly fell to the ground, the dirty blond surging forward, fists raised, frustration tight in his shoulders. And Axel didn't even have the time to move before Demyx was upon him, slugging him in the jaw, beating at his chest.

"Why would you do that," he screeched, voice raised well above its normal volume, hysterically angry. "Why would you fucking do that?" The redhead grabbed one of his wrists, faltering a bit as he was pushed backward, green eyes wide, body defensively trying to keep from hurting him even as his other arm continued to beat against him. Demyx was much stronger than he looked. "Why couldn't you just do what they wanted?"

Axel furrowed his brows, grabbing his other wrist with his lanky fingers, Demyx's normally friendly oceanic eyes glaring a furious sea-foam. "We needed the supplies. How long do you think we would have lasted with them gone, huh? How long? We couldn't give them up. You know that," he tried to reason, his voice level.

The dirty blond surged forward, bumping into his chest with his shoulder. This was wrong. This was wrong. This was _wrong. _"So? We could have gotten more! You put someone else's life on the line for a couple bags of blankets! What the hell is that, man?"

The redhead squared his shoulders, coughing as Demyx bumped his chest again. He'd honestly never seen him angry before. He'd always been so docile. He didn't like fighting. He preferred to just work things out. This wasn't like him at all. "Is that what this is about? Zexion's perfectly fine, Dem. He's right there!"

"That's not the point," Demyx snarled, managing to get his arm away for just long enough to snag him in the jaw again, red hair billowing out around them, nasty and in knots. "You try to fucking kill him and then you go and nearly get someone else to do it! Does human life mean so little to you now? Huh, Axel? What would you have done if Marluxia had actually done it? It would have been _your fault_!"

"I knew he would hesitate," Axel fired right back, temper flaring. How could he not understand? He'd only done it to save them. They couldn't survive without the supplies.

"No, you didn't!" They rushed toward one another, both truly fighting now, Demyx surprisingly holding his own against Axel, even with the redhead's hands holding his wrists. "You didn't know that!"

Axel growled low in his throat, voice coming out through gritted teeth, "He's fine! Okay? It doesn't matter what I did or didn't know because he's fine! Everything just fucking fine! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_? What's wrong with _you_," he queried, demanding an explanation. An explanation for why everything had gotten so mixed up, for why he wasn't himself anymore.

"I'm trying to keep us alive, you dumbass," he let go of his friend's wrist only to raise his fist, knuckles locked tightly together.

The hit never landed.

Instead, both he and Demyx stopped, Zexion standing between them now, pale hands shaking a bit as they pushed at each of their heaving chests. Roxas was close by, icy blue eyes watching the three of them, ready to step in if things started to get even more out of hand. He hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected Demyx, easily the most friendly and good natured of them, to just snap. Though he supposed that he shouldn't be surprised. This kind of anger had been building up for quite some time, shimmering just beneath the surface.

"Stop," Zexion coughed, swallowing around his raw throat, voice coming out as clearly as it could. Axel instantly diminished, relaxing with a quick breath. Demyx, however, just bowed up a bit more, fists clenched at his sides now, oceanic eyes as angry as they ever could be.

There was blood on Zexion's cheek. There was a line from Marluxia, thin and barely there at all, but there was a larger mark across his skin, the red already clotted and trying to dry but still so clearly there. The bullet must have skimmed him. Axel could have blown his damn head off! "You hurt him! Again!"

Axel winced a bit at that, remembering with startling clarity the way Zexion had had to tilt his head away from Marluxia's hand, the way the bullet had to pass him before it ever hit him at all. "That was an accident," he ground out, voice level, quieter now.

"Yeah," Demyx questioned, a derisive sort of sound passing through those normally sweet lips, "what about last time? Was that an accident too?"

"That was…," he trailed off, floundering for what to say. It was a purposeful action. He'd done it on purpose. But he'd been so angry. So angry that Zexion hadn't done anything. That he hadn't bothered to help when he could. Didn't Demyx understand that he was all he had right now? He couldn't lose him. He just couldn't. And he'd come so close.

"Exactly. That's what—"

"Hush," Zexion raised his voice from in between them, the sound hoarse and grating, his throat quivering in protest, fingertips pushing against their chests with as much force as he could muster. "It doesn't matter what happened before. That was something completely different and completely warranted," he paused at the way Demyx pushed against him, mouth opening to protest, only to close it again as Zexion glanced at him, those deep blue pools narrowed, only vaguely curtained by his hair.

"_This_," he emphasized, "was a situation. If the supplies had been taken, we probably wouldn't have made it to Agrabah and they probably would have killed me anyway. I knew that Axel wasn't going to shoot me. It wasn't personal." He let his eyes glance between the two of them for just a moment, taking in the way that acidic green pools didn't want to look at him, but sea-foam orbs couldn't seem to look away. "Everyone is still okay. So, just… Just stop. Stop fighting." He closed his eyes, swallowing around his sore throat, mind fighting off all the images from his past— the screaming and the blood splattered in the living room, the smell of alcohol on stale breath, the fists pounding into his gut, the smiles from his mother telling him it was okay not to tell the cops because they wouldn't understand anyway.

Demyx was the first one to break away, an angry sort of huff sliding from between his teeth, dirty blond hair falling around his eyes in little wisps as he turned away from them, stalking back toward the fire, the obvious want to be alone. Axel made to follow him, hesitantly taking a step forward, wanting so desperately to fix what he broke, but Roxas stopped him with a hand on his arm and the shake of his head, icy blue eyes watching as Zexion ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back away from his eyes, wiping at the blood along his cheek.

"You should go talk to him," he reasoned, those eyes still trained on the frailest of them, his body plagued by bruises, held together by thin skin. Deep blue eyes glanced at him for a moment before shifting toward the fire, the dirty blond hunched over, head in his hands. He supposed that he was the one who should go— it was partly his fault after all. "We'll give you two some privacy," he added, pulling Axel away by the arm as Zexion started making his way toward the fire, tattered old shoes slipping a bit as he walked across the inclined terrain, the cuts along his toes flaring up in slight agony.

It didn't take him long to reach Demyx. And hadn't moved in the time it took for him to come toward him, that dirty blond covered head still pressed so tightly into the palms of his hands.

Zexion hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight back and forth, slate hair falling over his face like a curtain, a security blanket to continuously hide behind. And it really felt like he was hiding— always, always hiding. From himself and everyone else. He sighed deeply at the thought, shaking his head a little as he took a seat beside Demyx, their knees nearly touching as he bit at his lower lip, saying the first thing that came to mind, "Are you alright?"

And Demyx just laughed at that, a hysterical sort of sound clawing its way up his throat. "Am I? Am I okay? I don't feel— What's happening to us? What's happening to all of us?" The other paused, leaning forward a little, the blond's voice muffled just slightly by his hands, the fire in front of them gracing them with a comforting warmth. "I'm not like that. Axel's not like that. Never. None of this would have ever happened before."

"Things change," Zexion whispered, leaning back against his palms, bumping his feet together. "You just have to adapt to them."

"I don't want to. I don't want to adapt. I don't want to change," the dirty blond shook his head against his palms, shoulders shaking. "I just want to be me. Not this person that's so— so angry! And angry at Axel! I've never been mad at him. "

Zexion hesitantly rubbed at the base of his spine in the same way he did for him before, body awkwardly adjusting to the angle, struggling to find something to say. He wasn't good at this. He wasn't good at comfort or people or anything of the sort. "It'll go away. Anger always goes away," he replied, remembering the way that his father could thrash and scream one minute and then laugh and smile the next. It wasn't always instantaneous; sometimes it happened gradually. But he wasn't angry forever. It always went away sooner or later.

"Does it," Demyx asked, pulling his face from his palms, those sea-like eyes of his reddened with repressed tears. "You know, I can't stop seeing it, running over and over again in my head. Axel holding you up— hurting— I've never seen him like that. And it won't go away. I can't make it go away."

Zexion scrunched his nose in confusion, slate hair falling against his cheek, brushing over the bloody lines sickeningly. He didn't understand why he was so fixated on that. Axel hadn't done any lasting damage; he hadn't killed him. It was okay, wasn't it? "Don't worry about that."

"How can you even say that," the dirty blond straightened in his seat, twisting to face him with those oceanic eyes wide. "He hurt you. He could have killed you." And he looked so honestly terrified by that fact, voice coming out with a slight quiver at the end, lips set in a grim, disbelieving line. Zexion just shrugged, jerking a little away from him as cupped his jaw with one of his calloused hands, pushing his hair behind his ear with the other. "You shouldn't be okay with it. It's not okay. It's so not okay."

He just shivered, deep blue eyes wide and exposed as Demyx leaned closer to him, that hand still locking him in place, though loose enough for him to pull away from if he wanted to. Chapped lips met his and he froze for just a split second.

But that was all it took for the blond to move away, sighing into his neck as his arms came to encircle his waist, an obvious sort of desperation to the way he was clinging to him, a startling wetness coating his bruised skin. "I'm glad you're okay. I can't lose anyone else."

And Zexion just sat there and let him cry, skeletal arms hidden by thin cloth coming to wrap around his back, deep blue eyes unseeing as they stared forward.

He didn't know how someone could lose someone that they never really knew in the first place. But he wished he did. He really wished he did.

* * *

><p>"I really messed up."<p>

Roxas stretched his arms over his head, rubbing at the sweat across his brow with the corner of his sleeve, the material scratchy and uneven against his skin, his shirt riding up to just barely expose his smooth stomach. Lazily, he watched Axel continue to pace in front of him, feet wearing a path in the grass, lanky fingers pushing his hair away from his face, Marluxia's forgotten knife held awkwardly in one hand. He looked like he was breaking into pieces, a defeated sort of slump to his shoulders, acidic eyes downcast, voice coming out in a near mumble.

The blond supposed that he should be encouraging, let him continue talking and work everything out on his own, but… well, Roxas wasn't exactly a reassuring kind of person. "Yeah. Colossally, actually."

Axel winced, stopping dead in his tracks, upper body jostling at the loss of momentum. He glanced at him a little disbelievingly, taking in the way he sat in the grass, leaning back casually on his palms. "That doesn't help."

"Neither does pacing," Roxas shrugged, honey colored hair sticking up this way and that. "But, hey, admitting you fucked up is half the battle."

He let himself fall to the ground in a disheveled heap, red hair knotted out like a halo around his head. Yeah, he was admitting it. He was admitting that he possibly ruined his relationship with his best friend. He was admitting that he was too hot-headed to rein in his temper. He was admitting that maybe he was a little too overprotective. And he was admitting that maybe he was wrong, that maybe he jumped to conclusion about someone when he shouldn't have. But— he really did have the best intentions at heart. Most of the time anyway.

"Do you think I did the wrong thing," he asked, sighing a bit to himself, emerald green eyes taking in the darkening sky up above, the dusk just beginning to settle.

Roxas made a little humming sound in the back of his throat, "It depends on what you're talking about." He flopped down onto the deadened grass, letting his palms slide out from under him, his body close enough to Axel to touch but far enough away to maintain their carefully constructed space. "Last night, yeah. I think you did the wrong thing. But, I don't think you did the wrong thing today. You saw an opportunity and you took it. I would have done the same, given the chance. And it's not like Zexion doesn't understand that. He seemed remarkably okay with it honestly."

"Yeah," Axel swallowed heavily, guilt settling deep within his chest. "I'm beginning to see that that's kind of a thing with him." He thought back to the way that Zexion didn't say anything the morning after he tried to strangle him, how he didn't ask him to apologize or act any differently toward him than he had before. The way he'd so easily defended him against Demyx less than an hour ago, even though he could have gotten hit in the crossfire. It was… odd. Really, really odd. He'd never seen anyone move on from something like that, like it never even happened in the first place.

Roxas yawned, freckled nose scrunching, hand coming up to cover his mouth. "You think," he asked a little dully, an edge of sarcasm sharp in his voice. "The guy practically _let_ you strangle him. It's no surprise that he'd let you shoot at him too."

The redhead rolled his eyes, thinking of the way that Zexion had pulled at his wrists to get him to let go of his throat, the way he had slid away from him when they were all tangled up on the floor. He'd fought back against him. He didn't just let him grab him and hold him up by the neck. No one was that disinclined toward self-preservation. But—

He brought his hands to his forehead, the knife dropping to rest in the grass once again, remembering with startling clarity the way that Zexion had stayed perfectly still when he'd come toward him, so obviously angry, so obviously prepared to hurt him. And he hadn't really fought back at all, not until the end, not until the point where Axel was sure he was cutting off his airways, hands tightening menacingly around his slender neck. He hadn't even moved away. Not really, anyway. Roxas was the one that made him move; Demyx was the one that pulled Zexion to safety.

Why would he do that? Why didn't he at least try to move out of the way? Fight back while he was still strong enough to do so? It didn't make any sense. And the way he hadn't flinched, not with the knife at his throat, the bullet whizzing by his face. He would have flinched; Demyx would have. Even Roxas wouldn't have been able to resist fighting back. So why didn't Zexion? Why did he act like he was so—

He jolted upright, puzzle pieces clicking into place in his head, red hair pulled away from his face. "He was abused, wasn't he?"

"I don't know," Roxas shrugged, voice level even though his blue eyes were narrowed. "Probably." And he didn't bother to mention the way that Zexion had scoffed at the very idea that people didn't hurt each other, the way he'd easily accepted his near-death like it was something that happened all the time. It seemed like something that Axel just really didn't need to know.

"Shit," the redhead tugged at his hair, knuckles whitening. "No wonder Demyx wanted to kill me. Fuck, I want to kill me." How could he have missed something like that? The signs were all there. They were so glaringly obvious, and he'd just ignored them!

And it was true that he wasn't really looking. He wasn't paying attention because it was easier not to. All he really cared about was whether or not he was slowing them down, whether or not he was getting in the way. He didn't trust him and they weren't friends, but did he have to be so awful toward him all of the time? He'd been nicer to Roxas since the beginning, and he'd tried to kill him!

Demyx was right; there really was something wrong with him.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure Demyx hasn't figured it out yet," the blond offered, sitting up so that they were face to face, blue and green meeting somewhere in the middle.

"Good. Don't tell him." Axel sighed, exhaling tiredly. "Let him remain oblivious for a while." Demyx didn't need to know those kinds of things. He was worried enough about him as it was. "I should apologize, shouldn't I? To both of them?"

Roxas quirked his mouth a bit to the side, a certain kind of scowl turning his lips. "I'm sure Demyx would appreciate it, but," he paused, eyes almost unconsciously shifting back toward the direction of the fire, smoke trailing hazily up in the distance, "honestly, I don't think Zexion wants you to apologize. He seemed to get it."

"What do you mean by that," the redhead questioned, wanting him to elaborate, thin brows furrowing above his eyes.

And Roxas just shook his head at him, thinking back to the afternoon, Zexion talking with him on the back of the beat-up truck. They didn't vow themselves to silence or anything silly like that and it wasn't exactly a private conversation, but… it felt wrong somehow. It felt like repeating everything would be a violation of trust. And they already had so little of that. "He just understands that you did it because of Demyx, that's all. I don't think he blames you for anything."

Axel glanced at him, eyes a little downcast, a little saddened around their edges.

"Maybe he should."

* * *

><p><strong>November 11, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Naminé furrowed her brows, pale blonde hair falling in front of her eyes as she leaned forward to rest her elbows against the rickety table, pretty blue eyes squinting a bit at the scene across the lunchroom. The boys she met at the dock were standing in the corner for some reason or other, the brunet tugging at his friend as they weeded their way through the crowd.<p>

Now, that was odd.

They had no reason to be at the high school. From what she understood before, they were here for the swim tournament, but were staying with some of Riku's— the friend's— extended family. They weren't staying there; they weren't corralled in a pen like the rest of the travelers. Why on earth would they ever come to this place?

"What're you looking at," Kairi asked from beside her, leaning in close to her ear so she could be heard over the noise. It was seldom every quiet here, the talking and chatting and gossip seemingly endless in this place, starting early in the morning and not ending until well after dark.

The blonde tilted her head to the side, bumping her hastily thrown up pigtail against Kairi's cheek. "The boys," she said without really looking at her, tone a little disbelieving. "Do you see them? They're the ones in the corner by the door." Sora, the brunet, tripped over a couple spread out across the tiled floor, shoes sliding a bit on the overly waxed surface. The male in the couple stood up as if to hit him, temper obviously flaring, but Riku stepped in quickly enough, smiling apologetically and leading Sora away.

"You mean the one with the spikes and the guy with the weird silver hair, right?" Naminé nodded, sighing a bit as the redhead beside her hummed appreciatively. "They're kind of cute. Nice eye."

Blue eyes swiveled back to her, Kairi laughing at the incredulous look on her face, her hands coming up to cover her mouth as she bent over. Naminé just shook her head, chuckling a bit as she rested her cheek in the palm of her hand. "That is _so _not where I was going with that. Besides," she continued, voice stern and lecturing and dull like the one belonging to their English teacher back home, "there's a time and a place for everything. And this is not the time. And this is not the place."

That just made her laugh harder, dimples showing on her sun kissed cheeks, pearly white teeth peeking out through her lipstick covered lips, red hair falling onto her shoulders. It was a wonderful picture— one that easily made Naminé follow along, laughter tickling at her own sides. "It's the end of the world, Nami. I don't think the timing gets any better than that."

"You're an idiot. You know that, right," the blonde stated blandly, eyes rolling a bit, the amusement clear in the tilt of her pretty pink lips.

Kairi shrugged, readjusting her blouse a bit so the ruffles didn't crinkle so closely to her stomach, the pink and purple fabric silky and smooth. Naminé should know; she'd borrowed that shirt more times than she could count. "What can I say? It runs in the family. It's not like you haven't met my cousins."

Naminé snorted under her breath, grimacing a bit with the remembrance of a few rather interesting weekends when she'd accompanied Kairi to her family's annual reunions. They were always loud and impressive, with bouncy houses for the children— teenagers too, when they wanted— and food piling across tables, stretching across so many that there was hardly any room to sit. There were always hundreds of people there, all equally stubborn, mostly redheaded, but there were never enough plates for them all.

They were overdone and silly, but they were some of the best weekends of Naminé's life— if not the most dangerous as well. She was fairly certain Demyx would have never let her go back if she told him about the rope swing behind Kairi's grandparent's house, the one that went well passed the water and created more sore muscles and bad ideas than any video game every could.

But that kind of thing was so far away from them now…

"Where were you going anyway," the redhead asked, easily bringing Naminé back from memory lane, her dainty face contorting a bit in thought, slim frame swiveling to face her. "Talking about the boys, I mean. If you're not looking at them for eye candy purposes, then what's the deal? You know them or something?"

"Sort of," she mumbled, scrunching her nose as she started searching for them in the crowd again. They were completely gone now, not a trace of silver or gravity defying spikes anywhere.

"Sort of? That doesn't make any— Oh," she exclaimed, pressing into Naminé's side with just the slightest bit of pressure. "Those are the guys from the dock, right? The ones you were talking about?"

"Yeah. Sora and Riku," she elaborated, crossing her arms against the whitewashed table top, pale blonde hair falling forward, her elastic-less ponytail obviously losing some pieces. "I don't get why they're here though. This is just for the people that couldn't afford to stay in the hotels, right? Travelers? The government isn't offering assistance to anyone else."

The redhead shrugged, deep oceanic eyes swiveling a bit as she searched the cafeteria, taking in the same scene as before. There were people littered nearly everywhere, taking over the tables, taking over the chairs. The food line was still stretched out beyond the door, even though lunchtime had come and gone ages ago. She and Naminé had already eaten, their disposable trays of whatever that terrible thing was gone, happily thrown into the trash. "Guess it doesn't matter now. They're long gone."

"That's too bad," the blonde sighed into her arms, voice a little wistful.

"Pity, really," Kairi added. And she did sound quite sorry that they had disappeared, a bit of a droop in her voice. "They were cute."

Pretty blue eyes swiveled toward her, gazing at her slumped shoulders and pouting lips. She couldn't help but laugh. "Is that all you think about?"

"Well, it's not like we're about to have a biology test or anything. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts." The redhead bumped their knobby knees together underneath the table, an obvious playful air about her, but Naminé could tell that she was worried. They were best friends. They'd been together since they were children, and she would always be able to read her like an open book.

But she was grateful. Grateful that Kairi was trying to make her feel better, take her mind off of all her endless worrying.

It helped. If only a little.

"It could last forever. I haven't seen any of the teachers since sometime last week," the blonde shot back at her, exhaling a little under her breath. It seemed that all of their teachers had just left them there, the roll-call protocol obviously not withstanding their relocation. She hadn't even seen many of their classmates, Kairi being the only one she made a point to stay with the majority of the time.

"Small miracles," Kairi huffed. "I'm awful at tests." Her blue eyes glazed a bit at that, and Naminé could only imagine the two of them curled up in her room the night before midterms, Demyx beating at her door in an effort to get them to shut up so he could study for his own. They always ended up doing more giggling than studying.

"It's because you don—"

"There you are!" The girls jolted backward as the table was jostled, undignified little yelps leaving them as the scrambled to stay in place, their plastic stools attached and moving with them. "We've been looking all over for you!"

Naminé tilted her head a bit to the side, glancing up at their two missing boys, the brunet falling to sit at the other side of the table, red faced and obviously excited about something, Riku touching his shoulder in an effort to keep him quiet. "Well," she began, pushing the tendrils of loose hair away from her face with something like apprehension, "you found me."

Kairi nudged her under the table, her boney elbow jabbing her in the ribs. She narrowed her eyes at her, but Sora seemed not to notice, continuing on like nothing had happened at all. "Yeah. Do you have any idea how many blonde girls with blue eyes there are here? We went all over the gym and the docks and the upper classrooms. And the officers kept kicking us out because we aren't supposed to be staying here! How ridiculous is that? It's not like we're coming here to steal blankets or anything." And he really did look so frustrated by it all, hands gesturing out beside him, big blue eyes rather wide as he recounted what had happened.

Riku ended up cutting him off with a shake of his head, silver hair shimmering as it fell along his shoulders. He was obviously used to this kind of behavior. "Sora, that's not why we're here."

"Why are you here," Kairi piped from beside her, head tilting slightly to the side, that pretty red hair of hers shifting. "I mean, you were obviously looking for Nami, but… well, why? If it was so much trouble, I mean."

The brunet's eyes lit up, his posture straightening as he excitedly leaned across the table. "Did you hear the news? The one that was on the emergency alert system this morning? It played all the way across the lower half of the island."

"About the buddy system," Naminé asked questioningly, thinking back to the morning when her head was pounding against her skull, the early dawn sounds mostly muffled by her pillow. All she could really remember was a garble of words followed by warnings about thieves. People were killing each other for food now, for blankets. It was horrible.

"No, no. That's not the one," he shook his head fiercely, an excited smile stretching across his face. "There was one that came on right before that. They're sending a boat!"

The blonde startled a bit at the way he shouted, brows furrowing a bit above her eyes. "Why is tha—"

"To the City of Departure! They're sending a boat to the City of Departure! They're going to go looking for survivors," he smiled, a pretty white smile that was like a little kid at Christmas. "Our brothers could be on that boat. It's why we had to come and find you— to make sure you knew about it. I didn't catch the date or anything because it was going too fast, but," he paused to take a breath, a little quiver pushing at his lips, "they could be there."

And he sounded so hopeful when he said it, so excited and so unbelievably sure that his brother was going to be on that boat, that he was going to make it back to him alive and well. Naminé, try as she might, couldn't stop the pit of hope expanding in her gut, a genuine smile stretching across her lips. Atlantica was a long way away from the City of Departure. It would take days to travel that kind of distance and who knew what could happen to him along the way or what already had, but there was a chance. A small chance that she could be seeing him again.

"Thank you."

And she couldn't let go of that.

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

Demyx tilted his head, sea-foam eyes taking in the form of Axel, a friend that might not be a friend anymore. He was standing above him, red hair knotted behind his back, away from his face for a change, his acidic eyes downcast, slender body slumped a bit. He didn't look the same as he had the day before.

He didn't look cocky and sure or ready for anything like he always did. If anything, he looked defeated, like he was truly out of his element with all of this, like he'd done something wrong that he just couldn't fix. Demyx knew that it was mostly his fault, but… he just didn't think it was right. He wanted Axel to feel bad, because he felt like he _should_. What he did wasn't okay. "What do you want?"

The redhead cringed a bit at the nonchalant tone, such an uncharacteristic sound coming from the blond's mouth. But he supposed that he deserved it. After talking with Roxas, he'd been thinking a lot about everything that had happened since they left Atlantica. And he didn't think he'd done everything wrong. Honestly, he didn't. But he was willing to admit that maybe he'd gone a little overboard. Maybe he'd done more than what he needed to. He didn't regret it— because they were still alive, weren't they? —but he could have done things differently. He could have been a little nicer, a little more understanding, a little more human. "This seat taken?"

"Do whatever you want," the blond mumbled in reply, oceanic eyes swiveling away, calloused fingers almost subconsciously sliding through Zexion's hair. He'd been asleep for a while now, nearly passing out as soon as they'd set up camp in Agrabah. He hadn't even protested curling up in Demyx's sleeping bag, his body wrapped up like an embryo. "It's not like I'd be able to stop you anyway."

Axel sighed, a heavy sort of sound that followed him as he slid down the wall, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent so that he could rest against it, his dirty denim jeans scratchy against his cheek. This wasn't something he was used to— Demyx acting in such a way toward him. Or anyone, really. Demyx wasn't one to get angry. He wasn't one to hold grudges or resort to violence. He was the type of person that would willingly take the blame for anything, the type of person that would walk the other way to keep someone else from feeling uncomfortable. But it seemed that everyone had their breaking point. Even someone like Demyx. "Look, I know I should apologize. Trust me, I get it. I messed up."

Demyx's fingers tightened in Zexion's hair, the frailer of the two scrunching his button nose in his sleep and fidgeting a bit in reply, the blankets within the sleeping bag knotting up around him into something like a cocoon. "Yeah," he grumbled, voice something like a whisper, no real anger behind it, "you really did."

Emerald eyes darkened a bit, barely showing in the dim lighting, the small building they were in only having one tiny window up near its ceiling. He swallowed, a lump catching in his throat. "So, I guess, asking you to forgive me wouldn't work, huh?"

"No," Demyx replied with little hesitation, his voice catching a bit in his throat, the word seeming to echo around them despite how softly it was spoken, Zexion still sleeping peacefully, Roxas spread beneath his blanket against the opposite wall, honey blond hair just barely peeking out.

Axel smiled a little sadly at that, his thin lips only slightly curling around the edges, his body sagging in something like despair. He hadn't expected this to be easy. He hadn't expected Demyx to let everything go just like that. But… he had hoped he would, that he would be just like the Demyx that used to do whatever anyone asked of him without complaint, that he would smile and make everything okay again like he always did. It was a stupid and childish— and he wanted it. He would do anything in the world to make things how they used to be. "Then, what do I need to do, Dem? What do I need to do to make you not mad at me anymore?"

"I'm not," the dirty blond let out with a long sigh of his own, one hand coming up to push against his scraggily bangs. "Mad, I mean. I'm not mad at you." He curled his toes from within his sleeping bag, the cool night air sinking into his bones despite the downy material. And he wasn't really. Zexion was right about that. Anger didn't last forever. But it did give way to other emotions. Hurt and sadness and disbelief. "I'm just— That wasn't okay, Axe. And the fact that you did it and just kept—," he cut himself off, shaking his head, pulling his fingers away from Zexion so he wouldn't end up hurting him when his fists began to clench.

"I can't…," Axel trailed off, voice sad and maybe a little desperate. "I can't change that. I can't make it go away and I can't go back. So, what can I do, Dem? What can I do to make this okay?" He blinked away the tears forming in his eyes, wiping them away with the back of his hand, a jerking sort of motion that he hoped Demyx didn't catch. Because he didn't want him to see him like this. He was supposed to be the strong one. He was supposed to keep them safe.

But Demyx did catch the movement, his own lips quivering. They were falling apart— the two of them that had seemingly been together forever. They'd been through nearly everything, and this was breaking them into pieces.

"Can you just—," he stopped himself, closing his eyes and trying to imagine being somewhere else, being home with Naminé just down the hall, nothing to worry about but midterms and finals and when mom and dad were going to be coming home again. "Can you just tell me why you did it? Any of it? Make me understand why, and maybe I'll forgive you."

"Far enough," the redhead huffed, that smile still touching at his lips, an air of desperation in his eyes. He brought his other leg up, both knees near his chin now, long and lanky legs acting as a security blanket, his fingers tightening against the denim as he held them. "You know how you have Naminé waiting for you," he asked, eyes searching out Demyx's, sincere and honest and so very sad in the darkness.

"Yeah. Of course, I have Naminé," he replied a little slowly, dirty blond brows furrowing. "But I don't understand what that has to do with anything. She's safe, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she's safe. But that's not—," Axel shook his head, face nearly hidden in his knobby knees. "It's just that you have Naminé. She's safe, and you don't have to worry about her being there or not. But… Reno's probably gone. Chances are that I'm never going to be able to see him again, you know?"

"That's— Don't say that," Demyx said desperately, turning toward him as best as he could, the sleeping bag covering him up to his waist. "He's fine. You'll see."

Axel just looked at him, acidic eyes searching for oceanic pools, trying to make him understand in as few words as he could. Because it hurt. It hurt like nothing else to know that the most important person in his life might never be coming back, that he let them walk away even when he knew he shouldn't have. "I want him to be. I want him to be okay, but you saw Olympus. He's probably already gone. And where does that leave me? What reason do I have to keep going if I don't have Reno, huh?"

The dirty blond made a desperate little noise in the back of his throat, guilt sinking into his gut. "You have plenty of reasons. You have—"

"You," the redhead cut him off, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, biting into the chapped skin. "If I don't have Reno, I only have you left, Dem. And I can't lose you for anything in the world, because then I'm all alone. I can't live like that. I can't do this by myself." He pulled at his hair, fingers knotting in it frantically, voice coming out shaky and terrified at the thought of having to make it through this without a reason.

And Demyx crumbled, shoulders shaking, calloused fingers curling. He was an idiot. He was a selfish idiot that hadn't even thought about what Axel was losing. They were best friends, weren't they? He knew that Reno was gone; he knew that Axel didn't have anybody else. How could he have been so caught up in everything that was going on that he didn't understand that? "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he mumbled, lips trembling.

Axel rubbed his back, spindly fingers running soothingly along his spine, his own body coming a bit closer. "You don't need to apologize. You didn't know, and I didn't want you to," he sucked in a breath, pushing away the lump in this throat, calming the growing ball of guilt in his chest. This isn't what he wanted. He didn't want to make Demyx feel bad about what had happened. He hadn't done anything wrong. He had his own worries; Axel didn't need to be a part of them. "And what I did was still wrong. I shouldn't have acted like that, no matter the reasons. But I'm not sorry, Dem. I need you to understand that I'm not sorry for trying to keep you safe. I'm just sorry for how I ended up doing it. If I could ever go back and do it over again, I don't know how much I would be able change."

"Would you want to? Be able to change it, I mean," the blond mumbled, the question quiet under his breath.

"Every day. Every single day," Axel sighed, voice a little wistful, eyes watching his feet twist against the stained carpet below them.

"Then, I forgive you— for everything— but on one condition." He watched as the redhead's body stiffened at his words, disbelief crossing his features, the moonlight barely illuminating him.

"Anything, Dem," he replied, no hesitation in his voice, something like elation pulling at it. He honestly hadn't expected him to forgive him at all. He hadn't done things the way he should. No matter what his reasons were, he shouldn't have gotten so angry about the little things, he shouldn't have acted so skeptically toward a person that hadn't really done anything.

"Fix it," Demyx smiled, lips turning up at their edges, eyes drooping a bit with exhaustion. "From now on, fix it."

Axel beamed right back at him, a real smile this time that was genuine and large, teeth showing in just the slightest way. He could do that.

He could definitely do that.

* * *

><p><strong>November 12, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>"Hey, Dem, you'll be cool riding in the back for a while, right?" Axel leaned against the side of the truck, eyes watching the deserted streets as sweat dripped down his neck. Agrabah was a fantastic city really, built much like Olympus but much easier to maneuver. The heat during the day was terrible though, no matter what time of year it happened to be, and of course, the nighttime was the exact opposite.<p>

Demyx looked at him questioningly, head tilting slightly to the side, dirty blond hair sliding across his cheek. He held his backpack in his hands, the material starting to tatter at the ends. "Sure?"

"Awesome," he shot him a smile, crossing his arms over his chest casually. "Zexion, you're up front with me this go 'round. Dem's hopeless with the map." And that wasn't a lie. Demyx really was terrible at reading the map— any of them really— but he already knew where he was supposed to be going. This had more of a personal reason behind it, even if said person was looking at him like he'd lost his mind, deep blue eyes wide beneath his bangs. He was obviously a bit apprehensive about it, but he shrugged his bag off of his shoulders and got in nonetheless, easily climbing into the truck's cab.

Axel just smiled, carefully watching the way that Demyx smiled back at him, the way that Roxas didn't seem to care but narrowed his eyes at him in warning. Part of him wanted to laugh, but the other part really just wanted to get this over with. Because he was willing to admit that he was wrong. He had no problem with that. But saying it out loud? To someone he didn't really know? That was an entirely different story. Especially with someone as difficult as Zexion. Roxas was much easier, more talkative, less likely to just shrug things off.

But, whatever. He would do this. And he would make sure he did it right. No more screw ups.

He gave the others a little wave once they were settled, twisting around so he could climb into the truck as well, the keys held in his palm. Zexion was already seated, his bag in the floorboard, his old shoes resting against it. He was looking a little better now. His hands had mostly healed, only a few scabs and yellowish-green bruises left, and the handprints on his neck were more faded now, less visible. He had a couple of butterfly bandages stretched across the graze at his cheek, but otherwise, he was completely bandage free. It was almost refreshing.

"I think the map's under the seat." He pressed the keys into the ignition, smiling a bit as the truck roared to life, loud in the still morning air. They were heading out a little earlier than normal today. The City of Departure was only a couple of days away now, if that. He wanted to make sure they got there as quickly as they could, giving them the best possible odds of making it off the mainland.

Zexion reached under the seat, eyes focused on Axel through a curtain of hair as his fingers searched. He found it quickly enough, the rough material crinkling as he touched it, a uniquely different consistency than the truck's texturized floorboard. He stretched it across his lap as soon as he brought it up, deep blue eyes memorized the twists and curves in the roads, the placement of the most recognizable structures. It wasn't much of a map— a tourist's map, mostly likely— but he supposed that it would do until they made it passed the city. "Do you know which street we're on," he asked, voice a little less hoarse than it was before, a little more confident now that he was more in his element.

And to his surprise, Axel just shook his head, red hair swaying, glancing at him for just the slightest moment with something like amusement in his eyes. "I was kidding about the map. I studied it yesterday, so I'm pretty sure I know where we're going. We should be good until we get out of the city. And then, I'm thinking we just take the main road. It should connect with the next town, right? The City of Departure shouldn't be too far passed that."

"Yes," Zexion swallowed, deep blue eyes narrowing just slightly behind his hair. Then, why would he want him here? He supposed that it could be to keep him away from Demyx, but he hadn't done that nearly as much the day before. And wouldn't it be easier for him to keep Demyx up front with him, instead of in the back with Roxas? This arrangement didn't make much sense at all.

But he wasn't going to ask. It was easier to talk with Demyx, or even Roxas. They hadn't been outright antagonistic with him. They hadn't been violent or threatening. He didn't trust them. Really, he didn't. But they weren't as much of a threat as Axel was. Zexion was anything but stupid. He knew when to keep his mouth shut.

He sat back in the chair, carefully folding the map, fingers almost subconsciously rubbing over the material. He could feel Axel watching him, even as the truck turned onto another street, the tires making a sad little noise against the asphalt. After a moment, the redhead sighed, an exasperated sort of noise escaping his throat. "You're wondering why you're up here, right?"

Zexion stiffened, but didn't say anything, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He turned his face away, eyes searching out the window through his hair. It was weird. Travelling. He'd never really had the chance to before, even though he'd wanted to. And now, he was here— somewhere he'd always heard so much about from classmates and television and customers at the bookstore. It was nothing like they said it was. It wasn't crowded. It wasn't full of old shops and charming little buildings. It was just tired, a shadow of what it used to be.

"Look," Axel continued at the other's dismissive body language, his voice coming out a little harsher than he'd intended, "Roxas told me not to apologize, but I figured that I probably should. To make it up to Demyx… and to make it up to you. So, I'm sorry. For what happened before, I mean."

He turned back toward him, deep blue pools narrowed a bit beneath his hair, feet shifting unconsciously against his bag. "There's really no need for you to apologize," Zexion stated simply, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, the majority of it still shielding his face. And he really didn't understand why the others were so hung up on that. Demyx had apologized; Roxas had tried to cheer him up after it happened. It didn't make any sense to him. Why would they bother with such a thing? He hesitated; Axel reacted.

There was nothing more to it than that.

"Yeah, man, there is," Axel said, voice level, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. "Demyx was fine. I shouldn't have reacted like that. You haven't done anything to deserve that kind of—," he winced, thinking of the way his hands felt against the other, the way he would have kept going if given a choice. "You just don't deserve that, okay?"

"You don't know me," Zexion scoffed in reply, a derisive sort of sound that he didn't even have to think about. And Axel didn't know. Axel didn't know anything about him. He didn't know what he deserved, because he didn't' know what he'd done in the past. He didn't know about the incident. He didn't know about the court proceedings. He didn't know about his mother. He just… didn't know him.

Acidic eyes glanced at him, thin lips set into a scowl. Finally, he let out a sigh, one lanky arm reaching out to ruffle his hair in a way that would have almost been friendly if not for the flinch Zexion couldn't repress. "You're right. I don't know shit about you. But I'm gonna say this one time and one time only. I don't care where you're from, what you've done, or who the hell's obviously been beating the shit out of you. No one deserves that, and I'm not about to change my mind. So, accept the apology or not. I'm just getting it out there."

Zexion leaned away, swallowing thickly as he stared at his shoes, at the tattered holes in his jeans. He honestly didn't know what he was supposed to say to that.

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><p><strong>AN: So, honestly, I'm not sure how to start this author's note. I guess I should start by saying that this chapter is technically not completed. There's another scene that I just haven't written and don't know if I ever will. And there's a reason for that, but maybe not a good one. This story is on the rocks for me. I don't really like it, but I write it. And I was starting to like it. But, in light of recent events, I don't think I can really say that now. **

**I received a message pertaining to this story. And I don't want to make a big deal about it, because that would be ridiculous, but I would like to ask something of the readers in reaction to this. I've been told that my writing style is confusing, that I treat the readers like infants, and that my word choices do not make sense in context. I have also been told that I have more or less botched entire scenes, that Zexion has come off as stupid, and that pieces of this are impossible (I don't really understand that last one though. The entire zombie apocalypse is kind of impossible, so that doesn't make a lot of sense in context. Especially since this is a made up world. They could fly if I wanted them to). Anyway, in light of this, I would like to ask for brutal honesty. How do you feel about this story so far? I'm not asking for reviews. You can shoot me a PM or post anonymously and ask me to remove it if you want, but I would really like to know. **

**I understand that this story is awkward. I understand that I probably would have done it differently if I wasn't moving in less than a month. And I understand that I'm reverting as a writer. Trust me, I get it. I'm sick and I'm tired and that doesn't make for good stories. ...Just let me know, please? **

**As for this chapter, I like some of it. The first scene with Roxas, the scene with Namine and Kairi, and maybe two-thirds of the second scene, maybe even a little of the forth. But I don't know. There were some revelations in this chapter, and some general oddities. Yes, Zexion did get kissed, but not romantically (depressing, isn't it?). **

**And this author's note is already ridiculous. I apologize for the length and the inconvenience. **

**Production: I'll work on it...**

**Question: The one from above. **

**Quiz Winners: No one. (But Shadow of a Fallen Angel gets some definite props. I didn't even count that many.)**

**Quiz Answer: Demyx. He was betrayed by Axel, because Axel more or less became a different person. He endangered someone else (necessary or not) and wouldn't listen to Demyx's side of things, as mentioned in a very small piece of the last chapter. (There are more answers, but this is the one I was looking for.)**

**New Quiz: Nothing really. I suppose you can guess the main character of the missing scene...? **

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). ^_^**


	8. Run

**First off, I want to thank everyone for their support and honesty after the last chapter. It really means a lot to me. There are still some things I definitely need to work on, but I appreciate the suggestions and opinions. So, thank you all for taking the time to reply to last chapter's question. **

**While I'm at it, I would also like to apologize. I'm sorry for taking so long to reply and for making it seem like I was not going to be continuing this story. Accidentally or not, it was never my intention to stop writing. This story is still planned to be completed before I move, and I'm hoping I can make that deadline. **

**I would also like to apologize for any misrepresentation the messager may feel was caused by my last author's note. I have no ill will toward them, and I don't believe they intended to cause such a fuss. **

**Also, I was unable to find the anonymous reviewer AnonakaChicken on fanfiction, but I would like to reply to your message. Is there another way I could possibly find you?**

**Anyway~ Onward march! ^_^**

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle…_**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. **

****Also, this chapter is not betaed. All mistakes are my own. If you find anything, please let me know.** I'll fix them as best as I can.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p><strong>November 13, 2011<strong>

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><p>Crystal blue eyes scanned the area before him, his lanky limbs shaking as they stretched across the tree's many branches, body pulled taut in an attempt to keep himself from falling. His left leg was bleeding, a nasty gash that oozed from the beginning of his thigh and stretched until the end of his shin, his skinny ankles barely saved from the massive wound. It burned, and the blood was sliding down the skinny appendage, tussling with his socks, dripping onto the grass below.<p>

But that didn't worry him.

What worried him was the way his body was constantly slipping, the space between his fingers and his toes empty except for a few small twigs, his long limbs not stretching quite far enough. He was falling. It was inevitable. He would continue to slip until there was nothing left for him to hold on to, and he would fall to the ground below just as he was, belly exposed, blood gushing from his leg, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Falling didn't bother him. He had fallen from countless trees as a child, just as he had tripped down stairs and nosedived into cement because of untied shoes more time than he could possibly remember as an adult. He was sure that he could fall from this height and come out okay. The angle he was at was, admittedly, terrible, but he was sure that the worst that would happen was a broken rib or two. He would come out okay.

The fall wasn't the problem.

It was what was under him that he couldn't deal with.

Positioned haphazardly underneath him, the bodies of the infected watched, their yellow tinted eyes narrowed, their mouths opened wide, teeth glistening in the just appearing sunlight. He could guess that there were at least fifteen of them— though he really couldn't see much beyond the area below him, his hair hanging in his face, red knots swaying. If there were more, if there were less, he didn't suppose it mattered. They were all moving, knocking into the tree, jolts travelling up its trunk and taunting his steadily slipping fingertips. Even if he could manage to hit the ground in a dead run— an impossible feat with his leg in such bad shape, he doubted that he would be able to make it very far.

He was trapped here.

He gritted his teeth at the though, those crystal blue orbs narrowing, a huffing sort of breath passing through his lips. There was no way. There was no way he was about to let his life end like this. None. Never. Giving up, giving in— it wasn't an option. He was going to get out of this alive damn it!

He wasn't the smartest man alive by any means. He'd messed up, screwed up, and fucked up more times than he would ever admit to, and he hadn't always made the right choices. He would never get to go back and take that job offer that would have had him set for life. He would never get to say he was sorry to the first girl he lied to. And he would never get to tell his parents exactly what he thought of them, of how pathetic and worthless they were to leave a little kid all by themselves.

But he had a reason. He had a reason to make it through this. And he wasn't about to let that reason go. No way. That wasn't how he did things.

He gripped the branch stretched in front of him as tightly as he could, trying to ignore the way the apprehensive sweat trickled down his neck, the way his toes were beginning to go numb. All he had to do was gain enough momentum to swing onto the other branch. If he could do that, he could climb on top of it and wait them out. They would eventually leave if they didn't get what they wanted. He knew that; he could work with that.

Carefully, he bounced with the ends of his toes, jaw clenching as his sneakers tried to slip from the fragile bark, chunks of it breaking away and falling to the ground below. The branch fell at the pressure, but bounced back just as quickly as it went down. Okay. That was a good sign. That meant he might have a chance at actually making this stupid idea work.

Balancing on his toes, he did it again. The beasts below him kept with their movement, their bodies twisting into the tree, the jostling making it harder to keep his grip. But he didn't care. He was going to make this work. They were screeching in his ears, their constant screaming echoing inside his head, the putrid smell of them permeating his nostrils.

It was distracting and it was terrible and he was pretty sure his leg was about to give out on him, but he was going to get out of this alive. He had a younger brother to possibly hug to death, and he wasn't about to miss out on that.

He took a deep swallow, shaking his head to push his hair out of his eyes, spindly fingers digging into the bark around them. He could hear a slight rumbling in the distance, the sound of rubber squealing on asphalt, but he wasn't going to count on that to save him. He'd been hanging there for what already felt like hours, waiting for Rude to come and find him, to help him down so they could be on their way again.

That's how it always happened before. But not this time.

He had lost Rude sometime during the night, the two of them running in opposite directions, promising to find each other by morning. It wasn't anything new for either one of them to get separated from the other. That was how this worked. They ran. They hid. They regrouped later when it was safe. But that was fine. They always managed to find each other again. Always.

It just so happened that, this time, Rude was running more than a little late. He was going to have to save himself. He didn't have enough time to wait around anymore. And if he were being completely honest with himself, he would admit that he didn't even know if there _was_ a Rude anymore.

But he wasn't being honest, and he'd be sure to give him an earful for this later. After he got out of the damn tree.

With that thought in mind, maybe even a little smile stretching across his lips at the prospect of giving his older coworker a bit of a tongue lashing for taking his sweet time, he bounced again, uneven fingernails digging into the bark. He went up a little, but not nearly enough.

He narrowed his eyes and tried again, the branch going up and then back down, surprisingly pliant. He did it a few more times in rapid session, his leg giving a little pang every now and then, blood falling into the waiting mouths below, and prepared for his swing. His fingernails tightened in the bark. He came to his very tip-toes, the branch still moving up and down underneath him, giving him the momentum to swing across. He prepared his legs, the muscles tightening, and gritted his teeth, his jaw holding the tension.

He would make it through this. He had his reason to live, and he wasn't about to lose sight of it. He wasn't about to give up.

The branch beneath his toes snapped, his crystal blue eyes going wide, pupils blown as he swung in the air, his lanky legs falling like they were nothing but deadweight, his hands shaking from the added strain. The infected below him roared as they began to jump, chunks of flesh peeling against their bones as they fought each other, teeth and nails going at each other's throats, hungrily eating whatever they could reach as they tried to get closer to him, as they tried to feed on him.

He struggled to pull himself upward, the bark beginning to break off beneath his fingers, his wounded leg numb and nearly immobile, blood still trickling down, down, down onto the deadened area below. He couldn't pull himself up. He didn't have the strength left in him, and the branch was far too weak to hold him for much longer. He wasn't going to make it. He was going to die here, wasn't he? No matter how much he didn't want to, he wasn't going to be able to fight the inevitable. He was going to fall. They were going to eat him.

Was that how it was going to be from the beginning? Did it even matter that he had someone he had to take care of? Someone he had to be there for?

This couldn't be it. This couldn't be the end. He couldn't leave Axel alone like that. He would never forgive himself.

He struggled against the branch, biting at his lower lip, tears beginning to run from his eyes, cascading down his thin cheeks. He had to make it up. He _had _to. There was no other option for him.

The second branch snapped, his body falling to the ground below with a sickening crunch. He could hear the distant rumbling coming closer, the infected beginning to descend upon him, feet against crumpled leaves, tires against grass. He could even here the screeching begin to swell, the sound of mangled bodies hitting enforced glass.

But it didn't matter. All he could think about was that he shouldn't have ever left in the first place.

He should have never left Axel alone because he might not be alive long enough to get him back.

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><p>Demyx leaned against the side of the rundown pick-up truck, the rusted blue paint tugging uncomfortably at his clothes whenever he tried to move, sea-foam eyes trained on the area beyond the uneven bed. They'd been driving nonstop for quite some time now— Axel wanted to reach the outskirts of the City of Departure before night began to fall— and the scenery was starting to change. The woods around them were thinning out, the overabundance of trees beginning to give way to shallow grass and an increasing amount of side streets. He had even seen a house or two nestled amongst the greenery.<p>

They were obviously close now.

And he hoped that they stopped soon, before they made it into the city. Dusk was already beginning to settle along the tops of the trees and the truck was starting to vibrate against him, the engine rattling in a way that he was sure it wasn't supposed to. He didn't think it would be safe to go in now, when they had no idea what they were going to be going up against, what they should expect.

Most of the cities they had been to were quiet, desolate places, cleaned of both the living and the dead, the healthy and the infected. They had scars of blood across their roads and the smell of death coming through their doors, but they were almost safe in a way, because there was nothing left to them. But, even if that was true, he didn't think he could ever forget the way they had swarmed in Twilight Town or the way those glistening teeth had looked as one of them had tried to devour him just outside of Olympus.

It was silly, really, the way the knot in his stomach continued to twist the closer they came to the city, the lump in his throat expanding the longer they remained on the road. It was probably nothing. It wasn't like Axel would let them go in unprepared. If he wanted them to stop along the outskirts, it was probably for the best. They would be closer to their destination if nothing else.

Though, Demyx was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea at all. What if this was all a trap? What if someone like Marluxia and Larxene were luring people here to take their supplies? It certainly wouldn't be unheard of.

He groaned at the thought, one calloused hand coming to his forehead to push back his unruly, dirty blond hair, the strands of it billowing with the wind. Now he was just being paranoid. Completely and utterly paranoid. Why did he even have to think that? Surely no one was that cruel. And it wasn't like a plan of such magnitude would be easy to pull of anyway. Most of the places they had been to didn't even have electricity anymore. It was a safe bet that even fewer had the technology capable of transmitting a message like that. There were easier ways to fool people.

And he really wished he could stop thinking sometimes, go back to a time where he was pulling out his hair over a calculus exam. Demyx didn't want to think about people like this. He didn't want to think of them as capable and horrible, as infected and sinister. He just wanted them to be human, normal, exactly how they used to be.

He let out a yelp as they went over a particularly brutal bump in the road, his body jostling, elbows and knees going up only to come back down again, banging unnaturally against the truck's side and skidding closer toward the center.

Demyx groaned as he went to sit up, sea-like eyes narrowing at the cab of the truck where Axel was bending over the steering wheel and Roxas was so obviously giving him an earful. While it was true that they wouldn't be getting a ticket anytime soon for speeding, he really wished that the redhead would slow it down, even if it was just for the people in the back. He didn't know how Roxas had put up with it for so long, today being the first day he'd ever even stepped foot into the cab, not giving Axel much of a choice in the matter. He and Zexion had probably taken quite the beating since they found the truck in Olympus.

He grimaced at the thought, shaking the crick out of his neck, the bones giving a reassuring pop every now and then, and glancing toward his companion to see how well he was faring Axel's reckless driving habits. Zexion was still sitting in exactly the same position he was in the last time Demyx had checked on him. His arms were wrapped around his legs, fingers linked together in front of him, his chin positioned atop his knees, face turned away, hair curtaining the areas he could see with just the barest hint of porcelain skin peeking out from between the strands. He didn't seem bothered at all.

Demyx was almost a little jealous.

"Did you hit your head," Zexion asked, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind, his slender face still turned away.

The dirty blond just shook his head, lips twisting a bit when he realized that the other wouldn't notice the movement. "No," he finally settled with, voice coming out a little louder than he'd intended. "I'm fine. Just knocked around a little."

Zexion nodded, turning toward him with those deep blue eyes of his narrowed, his slender fingers almost unconsciously rubbing at the tattered bag by his side. "We're slowing down," he stated plainly.

Demyx blinked at him, his head swiveling to stare toward the greenery along the edge of the road once again. Only there wasn't nearly as much as there was before. The trees had almost completely disappeared now, leaving behind small bushes and weary homes, their wooden exteriors in need of a new paint job, their windows cracked and busted in places. And they were indeed slowing, the truck beginning to resemble a reasonable pace now, the wind cascading from the truck's cab no longer threatening to push him back against the bed.

They'd reached the City of Departure. And he wanted them to turn back, turn around, the knot continuously twisting in his stomach, the lump in his throat threatening to suffocate him.

This didn't feel right. This didn't feel right at all.

He forced a smile, lips turning upward at their edges, tighter than they should have been, "Yeah. I guess we are."

Zexion looked at him for a moment, slate eyebrows furrowing a bit over those deep blue pools, button nose scrunching in just the slightest way. Eventually, he looked way, pushing his hair back away from his face, a strand or two tugging uncomfortably against the barely scabbed graze along his cheek. He didn't bother to say anything. Instead, he raised himself onto his knees once the truck began to slow to a crawl, and carefully pulled his bag up to rest against his shoulder blades, the weight of it less now that the majority of the supplies he had been carrying had been used— food, mostly, since Axel insisted on taking the heavier materials.

Demyx hastily did the same, biting his lower lip apprehensively as they came to a stop, the truck sputtering a bit as Axel shut down the engine, a nasty clank following only seconds later. He shrugged at the way Zexion glanced toward the truck's cab, standing a bit shakily, oceanic eyes wide as they glanced around the area.

They had stopped in the middle of a street, the truck very obviously straddling the doubled yellow lines below. There were homes on either side of them of varying shapes and sizes. Some were big; some were small. The majority of them were decked in brick, but others supported a very wooden frame. All the lots were about the same size though, each home a nearly equal distance from their neighbor, the grass separating them from the road abundant but visibly dead.

It seemed that they had stopped in one of the middle class suburbs the City of Departure was famous for.

The driver's side door practically fell open, Axel twisting his way out of it slowly, lanky fingers coming up to push back that unruly red hair of his. He didn't bother to close the door as he came to the side of the truck, resting his elbows against it, acidic green eyes staring at the two of them, taking in the way they were both more than ready to go. "Roxas and I figured this would be a good place to stop for the night," he started, pointing over his shoulder to one of the smaller homes, its windows shut tightly, the brick surrounding it in nearly perfect condition. "That one looks like it would be a safe bet, but we'll still have to clear it."

Demyx glanced at Zexion quickly, barely catching the slight nod before he was turning back to the redhead. "Yeah. Sounds like a plan."

"Or," Axel continued, smirking a bit, "we could keep going. The truck still has about a quarter of a tank of gas in it, so it'll go for a few more miles at least. And we've still got some daylight to work with. Not a lot, but there'll probably be somewhere safer to stay closer to the center of the city. Somewhere with less doors anyway." He leaned back away from the truck, spindly fingers tightening against the rusty blue side to keep him upright, his emerald eyes searching the area around them. Nothing was moving, but it smelled stale for some reason, like something was trying to fester in the cool November air. "Roxas thinks it's a good idea anyway. We'll be closer to the main docks."

Sea-foam eyes swiveled toward the truck's cab, taking in the way Roxas was turned toward the back window, lips set into a humorless smile, fingers mirroring the universal peace sign, two of them carelessly held out in front of him. Demyx quickly looked away. "I'd rather we stopped. Wait until morning, you know? It's already starting to get dark out," he said, stumbling over his words a bit, his weight shifting nervously back and forth between his heels. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere around here. But the feeling that was sinking in his gut, pulling at his throat, it would only get worse if they went farther. He needed them to stop; he needed them to be safe and stationary for a while.

The redhead lifted an eyebrow at him, acidic green eyes softening a bit at his tone, "We'll stop. You okay, Dem?"

"Yeah," he replied shakily, swallowing a bit, "I'm okay. Just tired, I guess."

"You're sure," Axel asked, body leaning against the side of the truck once again, those eyes of his searching for a lie. "If you start feeling bad you have to tell me. You know that, right? We'll have to find y—," he stopped, the sound cutting off abruptly as he twisted back around, his body facing the houses positioned so carefully along the street. Nothing had moved from where it was before, the houses still quiet, the grass still so very dead. But there was something different. Something wasn't right. "Do you two smell that," he asked, his voice gravelly, eyes glancing around wildly. It was the smell that was different. It wasn't quite as stale as it was before.

"We should leave," Zexion snapped, his voice soft but his tone sharp. Something had moved, he was sure of it. He just didn't know what and he didn't know when. "Now."

Axel didn't hesitate. He sprinted back into the truck's cab, slamming the door and forcing the key into the ignition, Roxas blinking beside him, asking what was wrong. Demyx just pulled Zexion to him, the two of them colliding in the center of the truck bed, back to back, backpacks clanking together, eyes scanning the area around them.

There was nothing.

Demyx couldn't see anything. The sun was steadily disappearing, the faint light casting long shadows along the deadened grass. The homes were all silent and still, the area around them blank. The street was quiet. There was nothing— absolutely nothing that looked any different from before. But that smell. The smell that was once so stale, far away, barely there at all, was getting worse. Putrid and vile, festering and rotting and coming closer by the second.

The truck sputtered, the engine roaring to life for just the slightest of seconds before it died. Demyx glanced toward the cab, watching with wide eyes as Axel's body bent over the steering wheel, as he twisted his wrist over and over again with no results. The truck was dead. The fucking truck was dead!

His breath quickened, calloused fingers carelessly grabbing Zexion's hand and pulling him to the side of the truck bed as Axel's door reopened, the redhead desperately trying to push his arms through the straps on his backpack, the heavy material twisted this way and that.

As soon as it was up, it was over.

The silence and endless stillness was gone, replaced by the sounds of screams, the sounds of gnarled feet hitting the ground in a dead sprint. The smell permeated the air fully, rotting bodies coming toward them, running from the way they had come. Their yellow tinted eyes glistened as sickeningly as their teeth, their nails held in front of them, lumps of decayed flesh coming off of them in desperate chunks.

"Fuck the truck," Axel screeched above the noise, watching as the dirty blond jumped from the truck's side, nearly hauling Zexion over with him by their conjoined fingers. The redhead's own hands came up to pull him down the rest of the way, swinging him to the ground even as he heaved himself over the side. "We've gotta run!"

Demyx nodded, body slightly disoriented as he grabbed the both of them, calloused fingertips clinging to Axel's bag, digging into Zexion's bruised skin, ready to run. But they were— There was—

Someone was missing.

"Roxas," he called, spinning toward the truck's cab, sea-foam meeting terrified ice. He hadn't moved. Roxas hadn't moved since Axel got back into the truck with him. He was still sitting in the passenger's seat. But he was, what was he—

"The seatbelt is stuck! _The fucking seatbelt's stuck!_" And Demyx had never heard him sound so scared, those hands of his tugging at the belt, his icy blue eyes wide, lower lip trembling.

He stood petrified for the barest of moments, adrenaline rushing through his veins, the screaming of the infected booming in his ears. No. No, no, _no_.

Axel pushed him forward, his lanky body stumbling from the weight of the redhead crashing into him. "I'll get him! You two go! Both of you! Don't stop running for anything, you got it? We'll be right behind you!"

And then Zexion was tugging at his hand, deep blue eyes staring straight at him. Demyx waited for just a second— watching as Axel scrambled back into the truck, he and the blond fighting with the belt even as the infected started to close in on them— before he turned away, dirty blond hair slapping at his cheeks.

Axel told him to run. He was _going_ to run.

He sprinted forward, Zexion at his side as they ran down the once deserted street, bags slapping at their backs, the soles of their sneakers crunching against the rough asphalt. The sounds were assaulting their ears, ringing and booming and roaring at them no matter how far they managed to run. There was screaming from back at the truck— Demyx couldn't make out what was being said or if anything was really being said at all— and the sounds of feet dragging across the blacktop, mingling effortlessly with the screeching of the infected as they continued to chase them.

Demyx didn't look back to see how many there were. He didn't check to see how many of the horde had decided to target them. He didn't check to see how many were surrounding the truck. He didn't check to see if there was even a truck left, a best friend and a blond nestled somewhere inside it.

He couldn't.

Breathing quickly, lungs gasping for much needed air, side stinging from lack of oxygen, he closed his eyes, those sea-like pools clenching in an attempt to stop the images from playing over and over again in his head. There were cups littered on the ground in his kitchen, a puppet like person turning toward him, smiling that crooked, blood-soaked smile. There was broken glass in the streets, people running, Axel covered in dirt, telling him that Twilight Town was just up ahead. There was a broken person curled under his sleeping bag, a blond holding a knife to his best friend's throat, the very same that had threatened to hurt that girl. And there was blood and death and the smell of rot that he just couldn't get out of his nose, the want for a bath and his bed and his little sister pulling at his chest.

He didn't need any more images playing in his head. He didn't need to watch what was happening behind him, because he was pretty sure he already knew. He wanted them to be there; he _needed _them to be there. But, what were the chances? What were the chances that he wouldn't see their bodies strewn across the streets, their blood pooling along the deadened grass, dripping from those sickened teeth? What were the chances that they were all going to make it out of this okay? That they were all going to make it out alive?

Demyx staggered, his hand pulled behind him by slender fingers twisted around his, his oceanic eyes shooting open with surprising force. Zexion was stagnant, positioned a step or so behind him, breath coming easier than his own, hair covering his face. He could hear the infected closing in on them, his body automatically pulling at Zexion's, trying to make him keep going.

The other shook his head, deep blue eyes glancing back down the decayed street, the infected still closing in on them. He squeezed at Demyx's hand, those fingers of his trying to convey something like urgency in the way they clutched. Finally, he surged forward without saying a word, the dirty blond stumbling after him, the backpack positioned gracelessly across his shoulders.

They continued on, the screeching echoing behind them, the festering smell of decomposition following them as they toed the yellow lines painted along the street's center. The homes on either side never changed. They all had their different shapes, their different sizes and colorings. But they were all the same. The same length apart, the same deadened grass stretching along their yards. They were all shadows of what they once were, irreparably scarred by the outbreaks and the sickness tearing across the mainland. Their owners were long gone, one way or the other.

They were all abandoned, left here to rot along with everything else.

They stopped when they reached the end of the street, both of them halting abruptly, fingers still clenched around each other, an unspoken promise between the two of them not to let go. There was a fork in the road, a natural conclusion of the asphalt that led into other sections, one to the left and one to the right. The adjoining street on the left was built much like the one behind them. It was upscale, but abandoned. There was nothing left to it. The one on the left wasn't much different, the houses only a little older, a little less well kept.

Which way did they need to go? Where would they be the safest? They couldn't run forever. Demyx could already feel his lungs expanding, his nostrils burning as they tried to suck up the sickening air. He wouldn't last much longer like this. He knew that.

"We have to get ahead of them," Zexion stated, swallowing thickly through his bruised throat, fingers clenching and unclenching on his available hand. His deep blue eyes were trained behind them, wide and calculating, his lips set into a thin line.

The dirty blond's head swiveled back and forth between their two choices. They had to get ahead of them. Okay. But which way? How were they supposed to— _Oh_. He turned to Zexion, oceanic eyes wide, an idea forming in his brain. "Which way is the ocean?"

"Left." And that was all he managed to say before Demyx was surging forward, dragging him along behind him. They hadn't stopped for more than a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. They were coming for them, and they weren't going to stop unless they had to.

With his feet slapping against the road, his eyes straining from the dwindling sunset, he pulled them forward, Zexion easily coming to his side, their fingers sweating against one another, the spaces between them few but slick. "There should be a set of docks close by, right? The City of Departure is a peninsula , isn't it," Demyx questioned, his head still facing forward, his voice carrying between them with a surge of volume.

Zexion looked at him strangely, biting at his lower lip, his voice coming out rushed and plain, "Yes! But, why would that—"

He swerved farther to the left, his shoulder colliding with Zexion's and pushing him down another connecting street. The frailer of them didn't try to say anything more. Instead, he just let himself be led, eyes glancing between Demyx and the infected, his feet spiking in agony with every slap against the manufactured ground. He just hoped that the blond knew what he was doing, that they weren't going to die like this.

They ran through the labyrinth of streets, Demyx turning them every so often, pushing them farther and farther to the left. The infected stayed behind them as they travelled through the maze, still screeching, still clawing at the air, their teeth glistening, their eyes illuminated. They passed through the middle class districts, their homes all pretty and perfect and gone, and eventually landed in an area of rundown shops and wooded fences, of gravel yards and parking lots.

And finally, they reached the dock positioned so perfectly at the edge of the city, its rotting wood contaminated by the smell of the sea, the salty undertones of the murky water. There were algae growing along the wooden posts lifting the rickety structure into the air, perching it precariously above the water, half sunken boats barely floating in the rapid sea, the waves rushing into the dock's side, fast and furious.

Zexion stopped in his tracks, deep blue eyes wide in the descending darkness, his arm nearly pulling from its socket when Demyx was brought to a forceful halt, his own body rocking backward, tilting due to their conjoined hands, head twisting to look at him questioningly, those oceanic orbs wide and flooded with adrenaline.

And it clicked. It all clicked into place. Demyx wanted to go left because he wanted to get to the ocean. He wanted to get to the ocean because he thought that the infected wouldn't follow them there, that they wouldn't come after them. It was a good bet with good odds, but— _no_. Oh, no. He wanted them to _jump_. "No."

The dirty blond just looked at him, hand tugging at his, breath coming out in rough pants. "This isn't— We have to go!"

He knew that. He knew this wasn't the time to refuse anything, let alone a way out. The infected were closing in on them, the slight lead they had on them quickly dwindling away as he stood frozen at the end of the dock, that water rushing down below, his breath caught in his throat. They weren't slowing down, their distorted bodies still running, chunks of putrid flesh falling down around them, some stumbling to bite at the other's ankles, gnawing on them with glowing yellow eyes.

"I can't swim," he finally blurted, his eyes panicked, his thin chest heaving against his thin shirt.

And Demyx just clenched his hand a little tighter, his sea-like orbs staring into his deep blue eyes. "Do you trust me?"

His breath caught in his throat, his lips trembling. They were halfway down the dock now, screeching and clawing and rotting, that smell of theirs overwhelming his senses, burning his already raw airwaves, touching uncomfortably at his nose. He didn't have to think about it. "Yes."

That was all Demyx needed.

He thrust them over the side of the dock, their bodies hitting the freezing November water and plunging below, fingers still clinging together desperately. The weight of the two of them along with the bags on their backs pushed them toward the bottom, the dirty blond's eyes opening beneath the water as he was forced against one of the dock's many beams, the rough splintering slicing into his arm, blood diluting in the surrounding liquid. Zexion kicked against him, not knowing how to move his feet but trying frantically to pull them up. Demyx nudged at him reassuringly, kicking his feet against the crushing waves in a familiar sort of way.

He was the first one to suck in a breath, his oceanic eyes blinking away the salt as he gasped, Zexion following only seconds after him, his body clinging to him mercilessly, an obvious sort of panic bridged across his nose. He sputtered against him, one hand still entwined with Demyx's, the other clutching the blond's shirt near his shoulder, bunching the soaked fabric and scratching at the skin below with jagged fingernails. "What now," he asked breathlessly, body taut.

Demyx didn't get the chance to answer.

A wave collided with his spine, pushing them back under, their bodies drifting beneath the water, the liquid freezing against their skin. Zexion was pulled away by the force of it, their hands barely staying together as they were continuously pummeled, legs kicking against the rushing sea, backpacks trying to drag them down. Demyx struggled to pull them to the surface, the two of them only taking in the scarcest amount of air before they were forced back down.

The blond could feel the heated blood rushing from his wounded arm, leaking into the water, weakening him by the minute. And he wasn't going to die like this. He wasn't going to die here, surrounded by the element he loved, letting someone else die with him. He couldn't— _wouldn't_— let that happen.

He dropped the pack from his shoulders, hand letting go of Zexion's only to grab at his waist, to turn them toward the surface and get them there. It was easier without the added weight, without the added pressure, the both of their heads breaking through, the freezing water soaking through their hair, running down their faces and sliding into their eyes.

Deep blue eyes were wide, slate colored hair falling into them, plastered against the porcelain white skin. It was beyond dark now, the water moving them along, the two of them drifting along the crashes and struggling against the travelling current. "How are we going to get out?"

The dirty blond laughed at the dreaded question, coughing up water only a moment later as it splashed into his nose. "I never got that far," he admitted with a little laugh. He could feel his bones starting to lock in the water, his legs starting to slow down, his lips starting to quiver. They were freezing. Demyx was sure he could already see a bluish tint to Zexion's lips.

"That's not—," he cut himself off, sucking in a breath as the incoming wave collided with the blond's back, their bodies spinning together beneath the water, drifting farther and farther away from the docks.

And then they weren't.

They stopped abruptly, skinny limbs pushing at conjoined ropes, the water crashing into them, suffocating them. They lost their hold on one another, Zexion clawing at the net to bring him closer to the surface. Demyx didn't follow.

He held on as tightly as he could, freezing fingers locking onto the thick ropes. The water was dark around him, pushing at him, trying to dislodge his hold. But he kept his eyes open, deep blue pools searching through the waves. He couldn't find Demyx. He couldn't find _Demyx_. Demyx— who was the better swimmer, who would have probably done okay on his own. Where was he? Where was he? _Where was he?_

Zexion drew in a breath, his cheeks puffing out as he plunged back into the water, hands crawling along the rope, his eyes wide open and burning in the dense liquid. He couldn't really see anything, the water as dark as it was outside, his eyes not used to the maltreatment. He wasn't— He couldn't—_ No_. He climbed back to the surface, taking in another breath and going back under, descending farther this time, his body drifting relentlessly.

He could see him, the outline of him faint and a little farther down, his dirty blond hair billowing around his face.

There was something wrong.

Zexion went lower, his lungs burning as he reached him. And Demyx just kept pulling at his foot, the water around his arm darker than the rest, his movements weakening. He was stuck. His foot was caught in the net, twisted around and around.

And he couldn't let him drown. He honestly just couldn't let him drown.

With his own air disappearing, his chest tightening, he descended lower, planting himself in the net and pushing away Demyx's hands, his own pair replacing them, tugging frantically at the ropes. He couldn't see where they were knotted. The water was too murky. His hands were too cold. But he tried anyway, pulling and cutting with his fingernails, air escaping through his mouth as he tried to tear them with his teeth, carelessly dropping the pack from his shoulders so he could keep himself in place against the waves.

Demyx stopped moving, his body going limp, his mouth opening in the water. And Zexion didn't stop, still ripping at the ropes, pulling and tugging and trying to fight the growing need for air. He couldn't leave him. Demyx wouldn't leave him. He wouldn't. He was the only one that had bothered with him, the only one that had _cared_. He wasn't going to forget that. He just _wasn't_.

The net began to lift.

He climbed along the shifting ropes, planting his feet near Demyx's hips, his body shielding him as they continued to come toward the surface, as the water gave way to air and he forced himself to breathe passed the endless burn in his throat. He pressed his lips to the blond's after he finally managed to catch a breath, that oxygen pushing into his mouth, Zexion's hands pressing at his chest, trying to push away the water. He wasn't moving. He wasn't moving and his pulse was weak against his wrists and this couldn't be happening. Not here. Not right now.

Salty tears leaked from his eyes, his blue tinted lips pulling away only to push back against him, lifesaving air exhaling from his lungs. He needed him to breathe. He needed him to breathe. He needed him to _live_.

Oceanic orbs snapped open.

The net dumped them onto solid ground.

* * *

><p>"<strong>We'll be right behind you!"<strong>

Axel surged back into the cab of the truck, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he hit the torn interior, the dried blood spatters scratchy against his skin, pulling at it and leaving behind straight red lines. He dropped the bag from his back, letting it fall to the floorboard, the tattered material catching on the steering wheel for just the slightest moment before tumbling the rest of the way down. As soon as it was out of the way, he twisted, grabbing the truck's rusted old door around its handle and slamming it closed, the sound of it echoing despite the crescendo of screams coming from outside. And then, he froze, his body rigid and twisted as his acidic green eyes looked out the dust-coated window. It was only for a split second, but he saw what he needed to see.

They were leaving.

Demyx didn't feel the need to go down with him. Good. Axel hadn't been trying to keep him alive all this time for him to do something this stupid. He'd get to see his sister again. And Axel— Well, if there was still a Reno out there, he was sure he'd understand. If it came to that.

With spindly fingers, he pushed down the lock on the door and twisted back toward the still struggling blond. Roxas' hands were covering the seatbelt's buckle, struggling to get it to let go, his teeth gritted in concentration. But his eyes were wide open, younger than they'd ever been, and his fingers were shaking around the locked metal, his feet coming up to push at the dashboard in an attempt to slip out from between the belt and the tattered seat. It was no use. He was locked into place.

The redhead pushed his hands away, his own fingers— steady and sure— coming up to press at the buckle, to fiddle with the red button that just wouldn't go down. It looked like the safety had kicked in sometime while he was driving and then not switched off. He grimaced at the irony, resorting to tugging at the buckle, his hands reddening as they slid along the material. Damn it. Damn it. _Damn it_.

"You should leave." He stopped his movements, body tightening as he pulled away, emerald green meeting determined icy blue. Roxas just clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, his lower lip trembling in something like fear despite the way his shoulders straightened, his eyes narrowed. "You should leave," he repeated, his tone firm, his voice unwavering.

Axel tightened his jaw, his teeth grating together in the back of his mouth. "No." And just like that, he resumed his movements, fingers pulling and tugging at the belt.

Only for them to be pushed away, shaking hands colliding with his shoulders, moving him closer to the driver's side door with surprising force, the redhead's spine colliding with the steering wheel. "You _need _to leave," Roxas stated, one of those hands coming up to push at his hair, his eyes desperate but resolute. "Most of the hoard followed Zexion and Demyx when they ran, but there'll be more coming. You could probably make it out if you leave now."

"Yeah, I know," the redhead growled, crawling back along the seat, lanky body coming closer to the blond even as his acidic eyes surveyed the street. The majority of the infected had gone after the others when they ran, but there were still some surrounding the truck, pushing at its sides, screaming against the windows with their yellow tinted eyes and enlarged pupils. If he wanted to get out, all he had to do was slide out the window at the back of the cab and make a run for it. It would be close, but he could make it easily enough. When all the screeching and screaming started to attract more of them, that window of opportunity went away.

"Then don't be stupid! Leave," Roxas shouted, his lips contorting, those eyes of his narrowed into angry slits. "If you stay here with me, you're going to die too! So, go! Just go!"

Axel snarled, grabbing the blond's wrists in one hand and pressing them together painfully, those acidic eyes of his staring straight at him, his body taut, "I'm not about to leave you here, Roxas. Get over it. You're _my _responsibility and I'm not about let you talk me out of this truck, got it?"

Roxas pulled back on his wrists, snatching them from Axel's hold, his button nose scrunching in anger and desperation. "I said I'd take care of myself! And I'm doing that! You have no reason to be here!"

"What about your brother," he shot back at him, red hair knotted around his neck, sweat dripping from his brow. "What would I tell him, huh? That I just left you here to die? All by yourself? It's not happening."

"What about yours," Roxas whispered in reply, his lips trembling, his voice breaking, the reality of their situation finally showing through. "What's going to happen when he hears about this? What's he going to think?"

Axel shook his head, his lips quirking slightly to the side in a sad sort of smile, "That he did a good job."

"Wha—"

The truck twisted to the side with a gut wrenching screech, tires burning along the asphalt as they were forced into motion, the sounds of screams and bodies hitting metal increasing into one endless noise. The redhead fell to the side, his chest bruising against the dashboard as Roxas grabbed at him in an attempt to keep him steady as they continued to move. The faint light from before was steadily disappearing, only the barest hint of sunlight peeking through the mass of bodies surrounding the truck, pushing it and pressing into it, denting the sides and losing chunks against the windows, old blood splattering the rusty blue frame.

The window of opportunity was gone.

"Looks like I'm stuck here too, Roxy," Axel grinned, his acidic green eyes nervous despite his calm words. He pulled himself away from the dashboard, pressing one knobby knee against the dead radio and the other against the tattered seat, the closest thing he could get to stable even as the truck continued to twist along the street, the smell of rot permeating the vehicle's rusted frame, the sound of screams echoing in his ears, nearly overshadowing his voice.

Roxas let out a tense sort of laugh, a nasty twist at the end of it, his body shaking as they continued to move, the opposite direction now. "I told you not to call me that, didn't I?"

"I didn't call you 'baby' that time," he shrugged, leaning in closer, hands once again working on the blond's seatbelt.

Roxas leaned away, body pressing back against the seat as the redhead worked. He tried not to let his eyes drift to the area outside, but he couldn't help but follow the infected's movements. There were more of them than there were before. When Zexion and Demyx had taken off, the majority of the hoard amounted to twenty or thirty, but now there were at least fifty of them pressing at the truck, working together in a way that was more accidental than anything, their gnarled bodies moving in the same direction as they fought and clawed at their flimsy shelter.

They were really going to die, weren't they? He didn't think he was ready for that yet.

"Why the hell are you even wearing this damn thing?" Axel pushed his hair away from his eyes, swaying as the truck went up on two wheels and then came back down again. "It's not like we were gonna get a ticket."

Roxas just quirked a honey blond eyebrow at him, an unnatural sort of calm settling in his chest as they continued to rock with the infected's movement. There was no getting out of this one their own. They'd need something more than a miracle. "Not the point. You drive worse than my gran—"

The windshield cracked, a long streak of broken grass stretching from one side to the other, bloody hands pummeling the glass, glistening teeth just barely showing in the dim lighting coming from the gradually disappearing sun. It wouldn't be long before they broke through.

"You still have your knife on you," Axel asked, sighing a bit beneath his breath, fingers brushing against the belt's buckle, an idea popping into his head.

"Yeah," Roxas grabbed it from the seat, the weight of it familiar in his hand. He'd already tried cutting through the seatbelt; it hadn't worked. "It's not sharp enough to cut through. You're wasting your time."

"Watch and learn, Roxy. Watch and learn." The redhead steadied himself, leaning down and pressing the tip of the knife against the side of the red button, the blade pushing against it.

It snapped into place, the belt rapidly sliding away from Roxas' hips and reeling into its cubby with little ceremony.

The blond couldn't help but laugh, a hysterical sort of sound escaping his throat that Axel couldn't help but mimic, their voices mingling together so loudly that they blocked the sounds from outside, the echoes of glass continuing to break. "We're idiots, aren't we?"

Axel didn't bother to reply, simply pulling Roxas away from the window, positioning him right beside himself in the middle of the seat, as far away from the glass as they could possibly get in the cramped truck cab. They sat together quietly as the infected bludgeoned the steadily breaking windows, their sickened skin giving way to yellowed bones, blood running down the truck's side, mixing with the chipping blue paint. The truck continued to sway with their movement, some being crushed beneath the wheels, what was left of their bodies serving as fodder for the rest.

Their fingers knotted together as the first of the infected made their way through the window.

Hands pushed through on each side, bloody and sure as they searched through the glass, not caring as the shards broke through their already decayed skin, the smell of rot overwhelming, poisoning the air as it filtered through the gaping holes. They pressed themselves forward as far as they could, those nauseating screams escaping their rotting mouths, their teeth scraping against the enforced glass as they tried to bite through, pieces of them breaking off and falling to the asphalt below.

Claws pulled at Axel's clothes, grabbing the fabric and tearing it in places, narrowly missing his arm. He didn't bother to pull away. They were already on Roxas, the blond's face pulled tight as chunks of material broke away, his icy blue eyes wide, his chest heaving. He didn't bother to ask him what he was thinking about because he already knew.

He was thinking about life.

He was thinking about the life he would have had without all of this. The life he would have led if the outbreaks had never happened, if he was still sitting in school with his friends, eating dinner every night with his family. The life he might have led if they'd made it to the Islands, to his brother. And he was thinking about everything that had already happened— everything he never wanted to forget, everything he wanted to apologize for, everything he wanted to say but would never be able to.

Axel didn't need to ask, because he was thinking it too, how this was the end for him. He would never get to run to the corner store with Demyx again, to pile up in the blond's living room and watch chick flicks with Naminé and Kairi while Dem slept on the couch. He would never get to walk on stage and receive his diploma or start a family. And he'd never get to tell Reno how sorry he was. How sorry he was for taking everything away from him, for being the kid brother that he had to take care of.

He would never get to tell him how much he loved him for it. Or how thankful he was that he was always there for him, that he never left him and never hated him, even when he kept messing everything up. He'd always thought he would have all the time in the world before, that he'd be able to tell him ten years from now and nothing would have changed.

It was okay though. He was pretty sure Reno already knew.

The front windshield completely shattered, glass falling through the rotted air, their fingers tightening, laced together as the screams continued to echo around them, as the festering flesh of the infected broke against the shards. Gunshots started to crescendo in the distance, the sound lost amongst the screeching, the tearing, the endless booming in their ears.

He didn't regret getting back in the truck.

He would have hated for Roxas to have to do this alone.

* * *

><p>Zexion gasped for air when he hit the wooden planks, the oxygen forcefully escaping from his lungs, his body racking in pain from the sudden drop, the sudden change from freezing liquid to the harsh solid ground. Demyx sputtered against him, turning to his side to cough, water expelling from his throat as he curled. There were voices yelling back and forth around them, steady and sure and so very loud, but Zexion couldn't hear anything passed the ringing in his ears, the roaring of adrenaline zooming through his veins.<p>

He acted on instinct.

Ignoring the shivers running up and down his spine, the quiver in his lips, he crawled over the blond, his knees planting on either side, his elbows holding him up, his body protecting him from whatever was going to happen next. He was still coughing, hacking up water, a blue tint to his once pink lips. And his chest wasn't moving like it was supposed to, the motion shallower than it should have been. He wasn't getting nearly enough air, the water in his lungs slowly coming up but oxygen not replacing it in the way it should. There was still something wrong. Something very, very wrong.

And that's when he felt it, the warm liquid pressing insistently against his wrist, the blood pooling around his hand, slipping between his fingers, sticking to his nails, the water doing little to dilute the feel of it.

He was bleeding. Demyx was bleeding.

Zexion frantically tried to make it stop, lifting himself onto his knees, pressing both palms against the rough gash that stretched across the blond's arm, his fingers tightening in an effort to keep pressure where it needed to be, the blood and the water sliding sickeningly against him. He couldn't make it stop. It wasn't even slowing down. And Demyx's eyes were starting to close, those oceanic pools lidding and darkening and _no_. This wasn't happening. This _wasn't _happening.

"Demyx— Demyx! Listen to me, you have to keep your eyes open. Don't fall asleep. Whatever you do, don't fall asleep," he whispered against him, his jaw shaking, his tone sharp and desperate as he pressed against him, slate colored hair falling into his face, his deep blue eyes endlessly wide. He couldn't let him die; he couldn't watch the light leave another person's eyes. He couldn't do it again.

The blond didn't reply, his lips moving silently, his eyes opening just a little wider, those sea-like orbs so obviously scared, so obviously terrified of what was happening, what could possibly be the end. Zexion just smiled as reassuringly as he could, his chest heaving as he continued to put pressure on his wound, blood still gushing against his bruised fingers, the tips of them blue and the joints stiff from the cold. "You're okay, you're okay," he shushed, his lips struggling to form the words he didn't really believe. "Just stay awake, okay? I know it's hard. Just— just try to stay awake."

Demyx groaned, eyes opening just a little wider, his chest quickening in the slightest way, trying to breathe. He knew what was happening, the pain in his arm numbing, the fuzziness at the edge of his vision threatening to pull him under. He could close his eyes and never wake up again. It would be easy. There would be no more hurt, no more pain, no more questions. He could die, and everything would be so much easier. But he didn't want to. He didn't want things to be easy if it meant that they had to end.

He wanted to see his little sister. He wanted to hug her around her waist and lift her into the air like he used to when they were just children and he was the dragon and she was the princess. He wanted to tell her about everything Axel had done to make sure he'd made it. He wanted her to know how much she meant to him, how much it meant to him to have somebody when mom and dad were gone, somebody to laugh at the nannies and cuddle with when he watched scary movies.

He couldn't die yet. Not right now. Not without telling her how much he loved her, how he wouldn't have made it without someone else to share the house with, someone else to decorate the Christmas tree with every year. He wouldn't be who he was without her, and he needed her to know that. He couldn't die without telling her all the stupid little things he'd had circling in his head since he was a child. He just couldn't.

"Demyx," Zexion shouted against him, pressing a little harder at the wound on his arm, blood still managing to ooze between his fingers, "stay right here with me! Don't you dare fall asleep!" Deep blue eyes watched as those pools snapped back open, looking at him questioningly, like he didn't even know how much he was drifting away, how his chest wasn't really moving anymore, how those sea-foam orbs kept sliding a little farther away from him. "That's right. Just look at me. You'll be okay. I'm not going to let you di—"

Hands pulled him away, grabbing him under his skinny arms, the wet cloth from his clothes clinging to his skin, his own slender fingers digging into Demyx's arm, trying to keep him in place. He kicked against the hands that were pulling on him, shaking his head, bending forward in an attempt to keep himself in place. But it was no use. Those hands just kept lifting, pulling him to his feet and forcing his blood-soaked fingers behind his back, tying him around his skinny wrists before he was pushed off onto someone else.

Zexion screamed, twisting himself this way and that, wet hair slapping against his cheeks, soaked sneakers sliding along the splintered wood. The person holding him didn't seem to care, their bulky frame hidden behind a stark black coat, the hood over their head sheltering them from view. Others in the same attire were surrounding Demyx now, moving him, grabbing at him and pulling at his clothes. And all he could do was watch— watch as they started to strip him, as the blood just kept gushing from his arm. His eyes were nearly completely closed now, his head lolled to the side.

Demyx was dying.

And the coated figures just kept moving, sliding his shirt away from him, pulling off his jeans and throwing them to the side. He couldn't make out what they were doing to him, their bodies moving too fast, their figures hidden so easily in the dark of the night. But he could see the blood, the red pool that just kept going and going and going, staining the splintered wood, swaying as the waves crashed into the side of the boat they had landed in.

He struggled against the bonds at his wrists, the rope holding him in place, the meaty hands pressed against his shoulders. He needed to get to Demyx; he needed to stop the bleeding. Didn't they understand that? Didn't they understand that he was steadily leaving them?

"Hey, Kadaj! You got it ready yet," one of the figures yelled, the voice obviously male, his body hovering over the blond's, the black coat draped across his frame doing little to muffle the sound.

The one called Kadaj came forward from inside the boat, the hood of his coat pulled back, his sharp face and startling silver hair shimmering in the faint moonlight. He didn't bother to reply. Instead, he handed over a piece of metal, the end of it glowing a menacing red, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.

Zexion stilled his movements as realization hit him, sinking into his gut, his stomach twisting. The blond blinked with glazed eyes, but did nothing else as the one over him grabbed at the metal, winding it around in his gloved palm. He brought it closer to Demyx's torn skin, and Zexion did the only thing he could think of, the only thing he could do with his hands pulled behind his back, with his body locked into place.

"Demyx, look at me! Look at me," he screeched, his voice quivering, desperate, those big blue eyes wide as they watched. "Don't look at them, just look at me! I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere! Okay? No matter what happens, keep looking at me!"

The glowing red metal pressed against the blond's wound, and he screamed and screamed and screamed, what little bit of energy he had left contorting his back, twisting his spine as he tried to move away, as his mouth opened wide. But he kept his eyes locked with Zexion's, oceanic pools meeting with deep sea blue until it was over, until the searing pain stopped coming.

And then he let go, those sea-foam orbs sliding closed as his body slumped to the ground, frozen and nearly naked against the harsh wood.

Zexion watched him fall, the smell of burning flesh assaulting his raw nostrils, the adrenaline and terror seeping into his bones, gagging him. The hands holding his shoulders let him fall to his knees, the pressure tearing at the thin skin, his chest heaving as he tried to catch himself, what little he had managed to eat sliding passed his throat and sopping onto the soaked wood in front of him. Footsteps echoed in his ears as he continued to retch, coming closer to him, the swish of the dark material pressing against him.

Someone laughed.

And then there was nothing but darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Does that count as a cliffhanger...? ^^; **

**Strangely, I don't have much to say about this chapter. Well, aside from the fact that I'm terrible at action. This kind of killed me a bit to be honest. And it is a lot more focused on Zexion and Demyx (It's about time, since they're supposed to be the main characters).**

**The beginning scene was the missing scene from the last chapter, the main character being Reno. And I'm not so sure how I feel about the scene. It's nothing like it was supposed to be, but I don't entirely hate it, as odd as it is. The original scene was planned a little better with a lot more movement, but... I couldn't seem to make myself write it out how it was supposed to be. My fingers have a life of their own sometimes. **

**The second scene was easily my favorite from this chapter. Long though~ And look! Zexion and Demyx kissed again! (...if mouth to mouth counts?) I have a little less love for the third scene, since it was written with a lot of distractions and I'm not so sure how well it came out in the end. What do you think? **

**The fourth scene was... yeah, Demyx just got cauterized. And Zexion can actually yell. Huh...**

**Production: The plan is for next Sunday. Only two chapters left. XD**

**Question: How do you feel about Zexion in this chapter? There's a bit more of a spotlight on him and he does play more of a role than normal. Also, how do you feel about the third scene? **

**Quiz Winners: Dk7890, ADeathlyPale, and Shadow of a Fallen Angel. I apologize if I missed anyone (namely, if you gave your answer in a PM; I haven't managed to sort through them all yet). Just let me know if you did get it and I'll add your name to the list. **

**Quiz Answer: Reno**

**New Quiz: This one is going to be a little harder to make up for the lack of a real quiz in the last chapter. The men in black coats featured at the end of this chapter: who is their leader? who was holding Zexion? (I'll give you a hint: both are male and they were both featured in at least one of the Kingdom Hearts games, but one is not from the series. That one was also not mentioned or described in this chapter.) **

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). ^_^**


	9. Second Chance

**This chapter is really late, and I apologize for that. This past month or so has been terribly hectic. Long story short, I ran around like a maniac trying to get everything ready to move, had my wisdom teeth removed, had the worst possible reaction to both my painkillers _and _my antibiotics, actually moved, started college, returned home for an emergency dentist appointment because my teeth hate me, and then had about 13 hours worth of homework to fight with because I'm taking way too many classes that are not meant for freshmen. **

**So, yeah... I need sleep. Badly. ^^;**

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle…_**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned in this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment— check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. **

****Also, this chapter is not betaed. All mistakes are my own. If you find anything, please let me know.** I'll fix them as best as I can.**

**Hope you enjoy! Happy Dexion Day! ^_^**

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><p><strong>November 15, 2011<strong>

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><p>He awoke to warmth, the feeling of material against his bare skin, a dull, throbbing type pain in his arm. He couldn't hear anything. There was a deafening roar of silence going off in his ears, the world around him stifled as if by death. The same type of death he'd grown so used to. But it wasn't the same. There was no smell of rot permeating the air, no screams cascading in the distance. There was nothing. It was like the slate of life had been wiped clean. And it didn't feel right.<p>

It didn't feel right at all.

He was used to denim pressing against his legs, sleeves covering his arms. He was used to the weight of a backpack against his shoulders, and the feel of fingers wrapped around his own. He was used to water and pleading and the endless screams of the lost. This wasn't right. He didn't know how to handle— how to explain— the reassuring weight pressing against his leg, the pull at the skin along his arm. He wasn't used to the silence or the clean air that was filling his lungs. It wasn't normal.

Wasn't he supposed to be dead? It didn't feel like he was. Not that he knew what it was supposed to feel like— dying, being gone, and all of that— but didn't they always say that it was painless? That it was like just going away? That he'd be in a better place? It was silly for him to think like that, for him to rely on that, but he couldn't be dead if he could still feel, could he? He just couldn't. It wouldn't make any sense.

Fabric slid along his foot, wrinkling along his toes, the weight from before shifting slightly farther away, like a person trying to readjust themselves. And he just smiled. His lips turned upward at their edges, the faint layer on top of them cracking in the way that they always seemed to.

It felt good to be alive sometimes.

Sea-like orbs pulled at the crust formed along their lids, slowly slipping open to the overwhelming light of the room, the never ending ocean of white assaulting them. He squinted against it in an attempt to adjust, to shut everything out for just a moment more so maybe he could process it. And the blinding white gave way to a tiny little room, white sheets pressing against his skin, a figure huddled by his feet. He couldn't make everything out, but he could see that he was in a bed, one made for only one person with rails along its sides. There were bandages wrapped along his arm and a needle pressed deep into one of his veins, the tiny tube attached to it leading to a bag, the remnants of red liquid pooling at its bottom. _Blood_— that's what it was.

"You're finally awake." He started at the voice, his body jolting from its parallel position, pain racking through him at the sudden movement. "I was beginning to thi—," the voice cut itself off, a weird little noise in the back of his throat, "How are you feeling?"

He felt his smile broaden against his lips, growing until it stretched his cheeks, pulled at his eyes. "Hey, Zexion," he croaked around his suddenly raw throat, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

The boy in question glanced at him, that skinny frame of his twisting ever so slightly to give him a better view. And if Demyx were being honest, he'd say that he looked like a mess. The semi-circles under his eyes were larger, deeper than they'd ever been before, the lines around them new, a product of stress and worry. He was hunched slightly, his hair stringy against his shallow cheeks, the stark white of a bandage peeking out through his dark hair. But he wasn't being honest. Demyx was just happy to see him alive. "Would you like some water?"

"Hmm," the dirty blond hummed as he tried to lift himself up on his elbows, his teeth gritting at the pain that shot up his arm, the soreness travelling along his spine.

"For your throat," Zexion explained, his body sliding to the floor that Demyx just noticed was made of cheap tile, an imitation of real stone. "Would you like some water for your throat?"

"Uh, yeah? Sure," he coughed, lifting himself a little higher, his body falling into a rather tight sitting position, eyebrows furrowing as he took in the rest of their space. There was another bed placed opposite of his own, the sheets along it ruffled and turned back as if they'd been slept in, and a sink that looked like it was just an afterthought, the porcelain stuffed in its space in the corner, two cups placed precariously along its edge. There were two doors on either side of the room, one cracked to reveal a toilet, the other locked tightly against its painted wooden frame. Where exactly were they?

The facet at the sink squeaked as it came on, Zexion's wrist twisting the knob with little difficulty. With mostly healed fingers, he grabbed one of the glasses sitting along the porcelain edge, the transparent cup filling quickly under the steady stream of water pushing through the facet's obviously old pipes. He took little time in walking it back to Demyx, his body lifting with a slight limp, the cup remaining in his hands, sweating against them, as the blond's oceanic eyes just watched him questioningly.

"What happened," he asked, swallowing thickly against the dryness in his throat, the swell in his tongue. "Why are you wearing that…?"

And he really did sound confused, the reality of their situation pulling at his diminishing grin. He didn't know what had happened. He remembered the feeling of fire against his skin, the sounds of screams not completely his own pushing at his ears, but after that, everything went blank. He didn't know where they were. He didn't know what had happened. And he didn't know why Zexion's back was exposed, why he was wearing what looked to be a powder blue hospital gown with matching pants, his spine sticking out sickeningly in the motionless air, bare toes curled against the imitation tile.

The other just sighed, deep blue eyes shifting to look toward the closed door, one hand leaving the glass to subconsciously pull at the hem of the gown. "I— I don't know what happened," he finally stated, his lower lip pulled between his teeth, voice quiet. "I wasn't awake for much longer than you were. But… I think we're at a research facility."

Dirty blond brows furrowed above sea-foam orbs, Demyx's head tilting slightly to the side. "What makes you think that," he asked, one shaking hand reaching for the glass grasped in Zexion's slender little fingers. His other hand stayed stationary by his side even as the water nearly spilled from the glass' edge, the skin along his arm tight, enflamed beneath the crisp white bandages covering the wound he barely remembered receiving.

"Well," Zexion started, his head turning back to the blond, those deep blue eyes of his barely exposed as he watched him guzzle down the water, his throat bobbing with every swallow, "we're obviously not in a hospital. The room mimics a hospital room, but it's missing a few pieces. There isn't a shower in the bathroom like there should be, and there aren't any windows that look outside. The beds look like they're made for medical patients, but there aren't enough outlets around the room to hook up most machinery. And the size would be too small for a large number of medical staff to work in anyway."

He pushed a lock of hair away from his face, the silvery-tinted strands tangling behind his ear as he twisted slightly to the side, eyes motioning to the large mirror that stretched across a portion of the closest wall. "That aside, I'm fairly certain we're being watched."

Demyx followed his gaze, sighing under his breath. "Great," he mumbled sarcastically, his face buried in the cup and echoing back at him. They really couldn't catch a break, could they? "Any idea who it is?"

"No," he replied instantly, twisting his fingers behind his back. He honestly had no idea who it was. Logically, it had to be the same men from before, the ones who had saved them from the water but attacked them on the boat. But, really, it could be anyone. They could be working on their own or working with someone else. They could be trying to keep them alive or trying to kill them. He just didn't know. "I haven't seen anyone since I woke up, and that was several hours ago at least."

"Then, I guess all we can do now is wait, huh?" Demyx leaned back against the mattress, propping himself up with one of his elbows, dirty blond hair falling against his cheeks, the now empty glass falling harmlessly on its side. He didn't like the idea of helplessly waiting for something to happen, of staying in this little room while who knows what went on outside, but… there was nothing else they could do, was there? They were trapped like birds in a cage; they wouldn't be getting away unless someone opened the door.

The frailer of the two nibbled at his lower lip, leaning back against the metal framed bed with its stark white sheets, the fabric scrunching a bit around the powder blue gown. It felt strange against his skin— the nearly weightless material that hung off his frame. He hadn't worn clean clothes in quite some time, let alone been clean himself, and it seemed as though their captors had made sure that the two of them were as spotless as physically possible. There were no blood spatters caking them, no crusty pieces of denim touching at their hips. There wasn't any dirt matting his hair or saltwater residue clinging to his skin. There was nothing like that at all.

And it just felt wrong somehow, being truly clean for the first time in months and knowing that someone else was responsible. Was it a gift or a violation? Was it an act of mercy or just a necessity? The men in black coats had closed Demyx's wound, just as they'd offered housing and medical assistance, but to what end? Were they doing this because it was the right thing to do, or were they supposed to serve as lab rats?

"Zexion," Demyx questioned once it was apparent that he wasn't going to answer him, his back straightening into the sitting position once again as he reached out and touched his bare arm. The other flinched at the movement, a miniscule sort of action that was barely noticed when those deep blue eyes turned back to him. "Are we supposed to wait," he reiterated, tilting his head slightly to the side, dirty blond hair sliding down his cheek.

"Yes," Zexion replied, mentally shaking his head at his thoughts. He didn't need to think about worse case scenarios right now. There was nothing he could do but hope for the best— but it wasn't like hopes hadn't let him down before. "The sink and the toilet both work, so we should be okay for a while. My only concern is food. They're obviously offering medical care," he nodded to the I.V. needle connected to Demyx's arm, "but it won't matter very much if no one brings us any food."

"_Sorry, kid. We don't do room service." _

The two jumped at the noise, eyes going wide as the searched for the source. There didn't seem to be one, but Zexion couldn't help but look toward the two-way mirror stretching across the wall. It sounded like it came from a speaker of some kind— maybe there was one hidden somewhere in the room? If there was, it had to be small. And he'd be willing to bet that whoever was speaking was also watching them. It would only make sense.

"_And see, now I've got you all in a tizzy,"_ the voice let out an elongated sigh, the sound of it deep as it echoed through the white room. _"Alright, so here's the deal. You two are going to sit on the bed, nice and still, and then me and one of my colleagues are going to come inside. No funny business and this should be completely painless. Everybody good with that? Awesome. Let's get this ball rollin'."_

Zexion furrowed his brows, slowly rising to sit at the edge of Demyx's bed as the door began to open. He kept his body turned slightly forward, blocking the dirty blond from view as much as he could while still following orders. He didn't know what they were going to do, but if anything happened, Demyx was in no condition to fight. He was there best option, as terrible of a thought as that was.

The first person came through the door with a swing in his step, a black coat draped carelessly across his shoulders with a gun holstered at his belt. He was grinning, but in an almost feral sort of way, the black eye patch covering one of his eyes and the jagged scar running up one of his cheeks offsetting the intended feel of it. He didn't seem to mind the way they looked at him, easily coming closer to the bed with little hesitation.

The second person to come through the door was entirely different. It was another male, but his steps were more calculated, controlled. His face was leaner than the other man's, just as his body had a frailer look to it, a crisp, white lab coat flawlessly adorning his frame. And he didn't smile like the other did. Instead, his lips were set in a tight line, pale green eyes watching them disinterestedly, maybe even a little warily.

"You done sizing us up there, short-stack," the first man asked lazily, yellow eye watching Zexion with an air of amusement, his body carelessly leaning back against the wall only a few steps away from the bed. Zexion didn't bother to reply. Instead, he pushed himself a little farther forward, his lithe frame shielding Demyx as best as he could. The man just grinned a little wider at the movement. "Cute. I've always wanted a guard dog," he sneered.

"Xigbar, how many times must I tell you to stop antagonizing the patients," the other man cut in, sighing under his breath as he pushed away his pale blond hair. "Do your job so that I can do mine, would you, please?"

The man called Xigbar rolled his visible eye, his black and white streaked ponytail swishing behind his head. "All this lab shit is boring. I'd rather be out in the field."

"You're on reserve, so stop complaining," the other piqued, his voice irritated as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And stop wasting time. We don't have all day, you know."

"Fine, fine," he grunted back, focusing his attention on the two sitting on the bed. "Alright, so here's how it is, kiddies. Old and mean over here is going to give the two of you a once over to determine your health, risk of infection, and all that yada yada technical bullshit that keeps this place up and running. Once that's over, the two of you will be moved upstairs with everyone else and allowed to roam the facility more or less as you please.

"There's a cafeteria on the main floor that's open for business— free of charge— and an area for sign-ins and shit like that set up in the corner. Drop by, list your name and place of origin, and anybody you might be missing. We'll check and see if they're in our records— alive or otherwise. There's also a baggage claim you can search for any missing items up there too. And that's the basics of it.

"Now, here are the rules. Any refusal to follow these rules will result in your immediate removal. One: no violence toward other refugees. We've got enough to worry about with all you little runts trying to beat the fuck out of each other over supplies. There's plenty to go 'round. Two: no leaving the facility. You won't be getting back in without another medical check and we ain't got time for that.

"Three: the medical area we're in now is _off limits _unless you're accompanied by authorized personnel. I don't care who you think might be down here. Chances are that they aren't," he stated plainly, his voice dull as if he was reading from a script that he'd repeated far too many times. "Oh, and before I forget the best part, if you refuse to comply with the rules and won't leave the facility on your own, we'll just shoot you. It's less of a hassle that way. Any questions?"

His colleague in the white coat scoffed under his breath, "Crude, but at least you're effective."

Demyx swallowed as the two glared at one another, their tempers and lack of patience for one another obvious, "Umm… where exactly are we?"

"Currently, you're located underground in one of the City of Departure's formerly leading research facilities. Since it is no longer running as it used to be, we are using it as a base for rescue missions in preparation for the transport from Destiny Islands," the pale blond man spoke before the other could, his voice rather haughty and sure. "And as I'm sure you're going to ask, we are an organization comprised of former military soldiers, like my colleague, and doctors, like myself. We also have several lower workers amongst us, but that is more or less all you need to know for the time being."

"Short and to the point, aren't we, Vexen," Xigbar yawned, that lazy sort of sneer stretching across his lips.

Vexen huffed, watery green eyes narrowing at him. "Hush," he shot at him before turning to the bed, focusing his attention on Zexion to begin as he started to search through his pockets. "Now, then, I am Dr. Even. Xigbar is mostly here for my protection as I check the two of you for signs of infection. Are you ready to begin?"

"What exactly are you going to be doing," Zexion asked warily, leaning away from him as he came closer, his palms pulling against the sheets, pressing into Demyx's outstretched legs.

"I'm not a heathen, young man, so don't look at me as if I am," he scolded, pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapping them over his frail hands. "As it is, I'm just here to ask you a few basic questions and check your temperature. You are welcome to refuse, but understand that it will result in your immediate removal."

"I'm not refusing," he stated immediately, slowly pushing himself forward even as he gripped the sheets beneath his hands, his palms closing and knuckles whitening as they locked over them. He didn't like doctors very much. When he was a child, he would cling to his mother, but after the incident, when there was nothing but doctors circling around him, he would just lock up and grab whatever was closest. It didn't ease the fear that knotted in his gut, but it… helped in its own sort of way, as silly as such a thing was.

"Excellent, excellent," Vexen mumbled, searching through his pockets once again to reveal a thermometer. He expertly sheathed it in the proper plastic wrapping and brought it to Zexion's mouth, smiling ever so slightly when he grabbed it and placed it under his tongue in the way that it should be, the clunky object pulling oddly at the base of his mouth. "Now then, I'm going to ask you a few questions. Just shake your head yes or no, and we should have this over with rather quickly. Answer as honestly as you are able, understand?"

Zexion nodded his consent, deep blue eyes watching the end of the thermometer dangling in front of his face, his bare toes curling. Demyx pressed his leg against his back, the weight and pressure of it oddly reassuring, even though no words were spoken between them.

The doctor cleared his throat, pulling a tiny clipboard from his pocket with a pen attached to its end. "Have you been bitten or otherwise come into contact with any of the infected's bodily fluids?" Zexion shook his head, Vexen quickly making a little mark on his clipboard. "Have you felt any loss of coordination, fuzziness of vision, or had a light cough in the past three days?" The thermometer beeped, Vexen quickly pulling it away and scribbling the results.

"Yes," Zexion answered, deep blue eyes rising only slightly. "Coughing."

The pale blond narrowed his eyes, his lips pursing, "I see."

"From his throat," Demyx quickly explained before Vexen had the chance to continue marking across his papers. "He was choked."

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward to tap at Zexion's chin, the other slowly opening his mouth. The doctor made an enlightened little noise as he took in the swelling, "Yes. I do believe that would account for the cough." He pulled back, marking on his clipboard and continuing on with little interruption. "Aside from that, have you felt any sort of unexplainable burning sensations or discomfort?"

"No," Zexion shook his head.

"Excellent. You've already been under observation for nearly thirty-six hours and you pass the minimal requirements, so I see no reason to keep you down here. Now, you take this," he gave him a piece of paper torn from his clipboard, thrusting it at his face with little ceremony, "to one of the offices on the second floor. They'll find you some more comfortable clothes. If you would like, I can have Xigbar escort you there now, or you can wait for me to finish with your friend."

He held the paper in one hand, his opposite tightening around the sheets, knuckles whitening in a way that nearly matched the stark, bleached fabric. He didn't like doctors and he didn't really want to stay anywhere near the man who was so carelessly deciding someone's fate based on a few questions carried around in his pocket, but…

"I'll wait."

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><p>Thin bones collided with heavy wood, their already bruised skin wracking with pain with every smack against the oversized door. He pulled back, thin lips set in an equally thin line, pressed tightly together as his acidic green eyes continued to narrow.<p>

This was ridiculous. Absolutely, bloody ridiculous.

He didn't remember what had happened. He was in the truck one moment, holding onto Roxas as the infected continued to beat and bang and screech as they broke through the windshield, but the next, he was here, carefully cocooned beneath a white sheet with a pillow cradling his head. His limbs were heavy, with cuts lining his arms and legs, small tears littering his face, but he was mostly unharmed. Alive, if nothing else.

And that was wonderful and fantastic and all those other adjectives that just couldn't accurately describe the elation he felt. Waking up with a crick in his neck and a hunch in his shoulders had never felt so magnificent because it meant he was alive and well and he might get to see Reno again; he might get to be okay again. Being alive meant that he got another chance— another chance to say all those things he'd been meaning to say, all those things he'd been too prideful and pathetic to say before. It was more than he could ever hope for.

But then reality set in.

He was in a room. He was in a tiny, white box of a room that he didn't recognize, that he didn't know the purpose of. The room only had two doors, one leading to a bathroom and the other sealed tight, locking him in. He was trapped and, worst of all, he was _by himself_.

_Where was Roxas? _

Axel growled, the sound feral and low as it escaped his strangled throat, his fists clenching at his sides, the loose fabric of whatever he was wearing— scrubs, maybe?— foreign against his palms. This was wrong. All of this was wrong. He was with Roxas. The two of them were together in the truck, so if he was okay, Roxas had to be okay too. He just had to. So where _was_ he? If he was here and Roxas was with him before, then they should still be together. They should both be in this unknown, little room, not just him.

He wasn't the only one who lived; he couldn't have been.

"Hey," he yelled at the wall, at the door, at the mirror stretched across the white paint. "I know you're back there! I know you can hear me!" He snarled under his breath when no one answered, angrily pushing his palms at the wall, no real force behind the action, but the movement loud and obviously frustrated.

He backed away, running his spindly fingers through his knotted red hair, the dry strands tangling around his fingertips as he continued to jerkily pull at them. This was his worst nightmare realized. He was trapped with no contact with anyone from the outside. And he didn't know. He didn't know if Roxas ever made it out of the truck. He didn't know if Demyx and Zexion had made it to safety. He didn't know if there was still a Reno out there for him to smother with affection and love and promises.

And he didn't know what was going to happen.

Before, even with the outbreaks and all the travelling, there was nothing like this. There was never a complete unknown standing before him. There was always a plan to be made, a need that needed to be fulfilled. There was a reason to keep moving and there was always someone else there to make sure it happened. He wasn't by himself; he wasn't confined.

But this was different. Completely and utterly different.

And he hated it. He hated absolutely everything about it, even though he'd only been awake for an hour or so. He hated the way the silence buzzed against his ears, the way his own voice sounded wrong when it echoed off the stark, white walls. He hated the way his face looked thinner than it should have, the way butterfly bandages tugged at his skin. And he hated the guilt that pooled in his gut with every movement, with the very idea that he could have been the only one to make it out, the only one left.

He clenched his teeth at the very thought, a puff of breath pushing out through his nose. He wasn't naïve and he wasn't going to lie to himself, but… he couldn't be the last one. He couldn't have been the only one to make it out of that truck. Demyx and Zexion were okay, wherever they were, and Roxas was too. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could make it true. Maybe he could make himself believe it, make it real, and they could have all made it through this.

Though, he supposed that hoping and dreaming and wishing was more of Demyx's thing. He'd always been much better at it. Axel was more about the action, about getting things done because no one else would. Right now, that was getting out of this room.

And he could do that. He _would _do that, one way or another.

He cracked his knuckles, spindly fingers popping resiliently as he rolled his shoulders, momentarily ignoring the slight sting the movements caused, the unhealthy tug at his thin skin. "Hello," he called, his voice echoing back at him in reply, his jaw tightening, his neck tensing. "I'm still kicking in here if you haven't noticed!"

The redhead let out an irritated sigh, leaning back against the bed he had woken up in, the sheet bunched around its end, its metal frame cool against his nearly bare back. "Could somebody tell me what the hell is going on? Huh? Anybody out there?"

Nothing. Absolutely freaking nothing.

He scrunched up his nose, crossing his arms angrily as he glared at the mirror stretched across the stark, white wall, acidic green eyes narrowed into feral slits. He could probably try to break it, but it was probably sturdier than it looked and it wasn't like there was anything he could try to break it with. The bed frame was far too large, and he highly doubted he'd be able to punch through it, no matter how frustrated he was— not that that would be a good idea anyway.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath, letting out a irritated sort of growl and kicking at the wall closest to him. It didn't do anything— like magically cause the door to swing open like it always did in the movies— but cause a dull throb to settle into his foot, but he didn't really care. It was just one more ache to ignore, one more thing to try to forget about. Like he didn't have enough of those already.

Axel scoffed to himself, falling back onto the bed, lanky limbs trailing behind him. He needed to find a way out of here. He needed to check on Roxas and find out what happened to Demyx and Zexion. He needed to make sure that everyone was okay, that they were all going to be making it out of here. He needed that, and now he just had to figure out how to get it.

He'd checked the entire room for a way out, but maybe he could try again. He could have missed something the first and second time around. It wasn't likely, but it wasn't unheard of. And it wasn't like he was just going to give up because he hadn't figured it out yet. He couldn't do that, and he wouldn't. There had to be someth—

"_It's nice to see that you've finally settled down. You were creating quite the racket on the monitors."_

He jolted at the noise, sitting upright, his back straightening, muscles tense. "Who are you and what do you want," he questioned, his voice steady as he spoke, fists pulled at his sides, tangling in the mattresses cover.

"_Are you always so ungrateful? You make it sound as if we've wronged you in some way," _the voice hummed at him, a sulking sort of noise that echoed around the room. _"No matter. You've competed your observation period, so it seems as if you are free to go. Someone will be coming in shortly to explain the facilities to you. I believe he said that the two of you had met, so expect a bit of a reunion. And do perk up in the meantime." _**Click**.

Axel tilted his head to the side, his lips quirking oddly. "What the hell is that supposed to mean," he asked himself, voice barely above a whisper. He didn't bother to speak up, because he doubted that the other would bother to reply, or that they were even there anymore to answer.

As soon as the words were passed his thin lips, the once locked door began to open, a familiar figure stepping through with heavy steps. And he couldn't believe his eyes, his entire body surging with something like hope, a knot pooling in his gut because the man before him was familiar. He'd been a constant figure in his life since he was little, always towering over him with his covered eyes, spending time with his brother at their kitchen table.

"Rude? What are you— Why are you—," he shook his head in disbelief, too green eyes widening as he tried to put the pieces together, as he tried to understand what he couldn't possibly comprehend, because he just didn't know. He just didn't_ know_.

"Hello, Axel," he stated simply, nodding his head to him as he came farther into the room, his body adorned in his very typical black attire, those ever present sunglasses perched at his ears. He looked like he always did— strong and ready, prepared for anything. But there was something just a little different about him, something he couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the way he held himself, a slight slump to his shoulders, or maybe it was the lines across his forehead that weren't there before, a product of worry and stress and everything else. But he didn't know, and he didn't want to guess.

Axel swallowed unsteadily, his throat suddenly dry even as his body started to relax because of the familiar presence. He didn't know what he wanted to say. There were a million thoughts buzzing around in his head, a million things he wanted to ask but couldn't quite voice. So, he supposed that he would start as honestly as he could, as simply as he could. "I don't understand."

And wasn't that a tough pill to swallow.

Rude just nodded at him, his lips set in a serious line. "This facility was set up to be a refuge for those who have yet to be infected. It serves as both a medical unit, and a place of protection for those who are in need of it. Everything needed for survival has been brought here: food, water, medicine, and so on. You were brought here for observation after you were attacked and, since you've yet to show any signs of infection, it seems as if you're being released. You're no longer on watch, as it were."

"What about the boy who was with me," he questioned, his words jumbling together in his rush to get them out. "Roxas? He has blue eyes and blond hair and he was right there with me. If I was brought here, he should be here too, sent in for observation or whatever."

"He's here," the other replied. And it felt like a weight was pulled from his chest, the knot in his gut loosening. "He's actually been awake for quite a bit longer than you have. As far as I know, he was released. I suppose he's somewhere on one of the upper levels with the other refugees. I could take you to him if you'd like."

Axel smiled, a genuine curl at the corners of his lips. "That would be—," he stopped, his red eyebrows furrowing above his acidic green eyes. Roxas was okay; he didn't need him right now. There were other people he needed to worry about. "Do you know anything about Demyx— that friend of mine from back home? He was with another boy named Zexion."

"I didn't know to look for him," he said, shifting slightly on his feet. "I only know about the other boy because he was brought in with you. Would you like for me to check the facility for him?"

"Okay— No. I mean, I'll find him. If he's here, I'll find him," he promised himself, nodding ever so slightly as he prepared himself for the worst. "Where's Reno? You were with him, weren't you?"

Rude looked away, his head tilting to the side, those covered eyes locking with the mirror along the wall, watching Axel's reflection. "He's still alive."

And there was something wrong with that statement, the way Rude sounded when he said it, his normal voice disrupted by something akin to guilt. Reno was still alive though, and Axel couldn't help the elation that pulled at his chest. His brother was still alive; he couldn't not be thankful for that. But the way that Rude was so guilt-ridden told him that something was not right, that the condition he was in might not be what he had hoped. "How bad is he?"

"He's in the medical ward upstairs. He hasn't been infected, but he won't be able to make the transport when it comes. They're keeping him heavily medicated to help with the pain," Rude stated, an unnatural waver in his voice as he spoke.

The redhead didn't ask him to elaborate. Whatever had happened was something that affected the both of them, and Rude didn't need to relive that. He could see for himself. "Take me to him."

Rude turned back to him, his jaw pulled tight. "I don't think that's the best idea right now. He wouldn't want you to see him like that."

"Screw that," he scoffed, crossing his arms as he stood. "I'm his brother." He shook his head, running his hands through his hair in that constant habit of his, his face softening a bit as he looked at Rude. "I— I just really, really _need _to see him. I have to make sure he's really there, you know?"

The other man stared at him, taking in the honest expression on his face, the desperate look in his eyes. He could understand that. "Okay."

Axel slumped, smiling a little sadly. "Can we go now?"

Rude didn't bother to answer. Instead, he just turned away, walking back toward the door with the expectations that the redhead would be following along behind him. And he did, his bare toes touching at the tiled floor, coming up behind the man as he stopped in the doorway, those sunglass covered eyes turning back toward him, the lines along his forehead fading in something like relief and honesty. "I'm glad you're alright. You know that, right?"

He stopped in his tracks, green eyes glazing in just the slightest way.

"Yeah. I know."

* * *

><p>"I can carry that, you know."<p>

Zexion shook his head, his silvery tinted fringe falling to cover more of his face, one of his deep blue eyes hidden almost completely from view. "It's fine. You're not supposed to use your arm very much until it heals anyway," he stated mostly to his feet as he shifted his bag to the side and read through Demyx's prescription information.

"But you're already carrying everything else," the dirty blond sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he leaned against one of the facility's beige colored upper walls. And it was true. Zexion was already carrying everything they had been given to them since leaving the observation area. The younger's backpack— found trapped within one of the fishing nets— was pulling at his right shoulder, their newfound clothes and supplies packed inside. In his hands, he held their room keys and now, the antibiotics that were prescribed to keep infection from setting into Demyx's arm.

He really wasn't letting him do anything.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine." He lifted his head, his hair shifting over his cheeks, their eyes meeting for just the slightest moment before he was looking down again, the papers held in his hands crinkling. "You need to take these with food. Do you want to go to the cafeteria now or go to the room? You lost a lot of blood, so you're going to need to sleep."

Demyx's eyes glazed, his head tilting to the bandages wrapped around his arm, the slight discoloration to his skin from the needle that was pressed into him. He still didn't remember everything that had happened, but bits and pieces were coming back. He remembered cutting himself under the water and getting trapped in the net— and he remembered Zexion. He remembered him telling him that he couldn't swim, clinging to him when the waves hit. And he remembered his eyes trained on his, his voice ringing in his ears.

He just didn't know what to make of it.

"Demyx," Zexion called once it became apparent that he wasn't going to answer, the two of them pushed against the wall as people continued to move about behind them, making their way toward their rooms or trying to fill their own prescriptions at the counters in the corner. There were more of them than he'd thought that there'd be, milling around in the halls, huddled together in packs. And it made him wonder if they'd be able to make it. The transport couldn't possibly hold them all, so who would be left? Who was going to get left behind and who was going to get a second chance?

"Huh? Oh, right. Umm… I guess we should go eat. You mentioned food earlier, right? Are you hungry," Demyx asked, shifting slightly, his arm throbbing uncomfortably against him, the skin burning.

Zexion bit his bottom lip, jostling forward as a group of people passed behind him, their voices loud and grating as they joined the others echoing through the hall, "It doesn't matter. You need to start taking your pills anyway."

The dirty blond shrugged, his brows furrowing in just the slightest way as he pushed himself away from the wall to follow along behind the other, oceanic eyes watching him sway under the weight of the bag slung over his shoulder. He was glad that it was found, even though he didn't really care about his own, lost somewhere in the ocean. He remembered the little album pressed against the bottom, nestled under the handmade blanket, and even though it was probably damaged now, crinkled and contorted, it must still be important. He would hate for Zexion to lose something like that.

He hated that he even knew it was there.

And maybe it was stupid for him to be like that. Maybe it was silly and unnatural for him to not want to know. It wasn't like it was a secret. It wasn't like him knowing changed anything. But it felt wrong. It felt so, so wrong to know. Did Zexion know they searched through his stuff? Did he know that they violated him like that? It wasn't his idea. He hadn't wanted to. Axel was the one who did it. He was the one who said they had to.

But it wasn't completely his fault. Axel wasn't the only one. And did it really matter? Did it really matter who was at fault? Axel might not even be alive right now. He might not have made it like they did. He and Roxas… they might be gone. There might be nothing left of them. They could be dead in the truck cab, eaten down to the bone, twisted and contorted like everything else, or they could be outside somewhere, wounded, searching for help. They could have been infected. They could be turning right now, becoming one of those things while he was perfectly safe inside the research facility with all the other refugees.

It just wasn't fair. It just wasn't _fair_.

Axel deserved to be here more than he did. He was the one who made sure he made it. He was the one who made sure he got here, the one who pushed him and Zexion away. He'd been fighting for him all along. And for what? For him to make it and for him to get left behind? What about Reno? Would Axel ever get to see him again? If he made it to Destiny Islands, he'd have Naminé. He'd have his little sister and a whole new chance at life. But what about Axel? Was he here? Was Reno here? Did they get a chance at all?

And there was Roxas too. What about him? Did he make it out? He didn't know much of anything about him and they weren't close or anything like that, but he didn't want him to die. And he'd looked so _scared_. He'd looked so scared seated in the cab, trapped by the seatbelt. Did he think that they were just going to leave him there? Did he have people waiting for him, people who couldn't live without him?

What right did he have to make it this far when there were people far better than him out there? What right did he have to make it when others were dying and being left behind? He wasn't anything special and he didn't want to die, but… who got to decide? Who got to decide who made it and who didn't? Who got to make that choice?

He sighed, stopping in his tracks as they came up on the cafeteria, his sneaker covered feet twisting on the bland carpet, his bottom lip held between his teeth as he took in the echoes from up ahead. This was wrong, wasn't it? Him being here, safe and sound for the time being while so many others were still on the outside, running for their lives, unable to find food and water, medicine and blankets. It just wasn't… fair.

"Are you—," Zexion made an abrupt little noise, cutting himself off with the slight shake of his head, like he wanted to say something but couldn't make himself form the words. "What are you thinking about," he finally settled on, turning back toward him from his place a few steps away, the same position he'd been in since he realized that Demyx had stopped.

And the blond didn't really know what to say, his eyes slightly downcast as he mumbled, "Do you think the others are okay? That we did the right thing by leaving them there? I mean, I'm not— we probably couldn't— but we just… left. We should have stayed with them. We shouldn't have abandoned them."

Zexion tucked his hair behind his ear, too blue eyes staring at him a little sadly for just the slightest moment. "I don't… We didn't do the wrong thing by leaving. Axel wouldn't have wanted you to stay."

"Yeah," Demyx smiled sadly, the corners of his lips just barely upturned. Axel probably would have fought him tooth and nail, but…. "Do you think they made it, though? I want them to be here with us. Safe, you know? But I don't know if I'm just being stupid or what. There are so many people here, but there are so many more out there. We were lucky; what if they weren't?"

"I think— I think they made it," Zexion sighed, those blue eyes watching him, reassuring him in the only way they knew how. "We gave them a chance by leaving. Most of the horde followed us, so they might have made it out before any more of them got there. They probably had better chances than we did."

The blond snorted, chapped lips quirking in just the slightest way, "I have _got_ to teach you how to swim."

The smaller of them blinked, startled, "We don't have beaches in Hollow Bastion."

Demyx just grinned in response, shaking away the thoughts of _what ifs_ and _maybes_. Axel and Roxas were okay, wherever they were. He just had to believe that. "But Destiny Islands are surrounded by beaches with big blue waves and pretty white sand. We're gonna have a blast," he beamed, catching up to the other to put his good arm around his shoulders, laughing outright at the way Zexion's eyebrow arched at him, those lips of his disbelieving as his backpack jostled against his skin.

"Oh, really," he mumbled, tensing just slightly, but not bothering to shrug out of the other's hold. He didn't think he could if he wanted to anyway.

"Yes, really," the dirty blond echoed, that hair of his tickling his side. "I am going to teach you how to swim. And that's a promise."

Zexion shook his head, the weight of the last few days starting to dissipate as Demyx laughed in his ear. He wasn't comfortable with this closeness and it wasn't like they didn't have anything else they needed to worry about, any other unknowns that needed to be conquered, but he could live with this. He could live with all of this if Demyx just laughed a little more. "We really will drown this time."

Demyx shook his head against him, sea-foam eyes watching deep blue through their corners, "Oh, don't be like that. We won't actually drown."

"Drown? No wonder you two look like shit." They stopped, bodies wobbling together as Demyx's arm dropped from Zexion's shoulders, as their eyes widened at the sight before them.

Standing directly in front of the two stood a blond. He was covered in bandages, his exposed skin discolored and bruised, and he looked like a rag muffin with his jeans slung low on his hips and an oversized shirt hanging off his shoulders, but he was smiling, those icy blue eyes of his wide and elated.

Roxas was okay.

And maybe they'd make it out of here after all.

* * *

><p>Screeching echoed off the deserted buildings as they went at each other, tearing and ripping whatever they could reach. Their shredded clothes twisted in the twilight, swaying this way and that as the fabric danced, the colors faded and lost from the distance. Chunks of flesh would peel back from the bone with every movement as they continued to rot away, and he could almost imagine the smell stinging the inside of his nose, burning away at his nostrils.<p>

He didn't want to watch them. He didn't want to watch their gnarled bodies pull at one another, the fall of the smaller. He didn't want to see it. It wasn't why he came outside. But even so, he couldn't look away.

He couldn't tear his eyes away when the larger of the two crawled along the other's tattered flesh and started pulling, ripping and shredding as it feasted on what was left of it. He couldn't even close his eyes as its teeth glistened, as the screams coming from the smaller began to surge and then die, pieces missing from its throat now, bones breaking under the pressure of the other's jaws.

And all he could think beyond the sinking in his gut was that they looked so alike. The larger and the smaller were both infected and they were too far away from him for him to really distinguish between them, but there was just something so similar about them. Their actions had the same kind of desperate air, the same kind of upturned movements. They both had thin frames and long brown hair that knotted down their torn backs.

It was like they were near mirror images of each other. Like maybe they were siblings or mother and daughter— and they were killing each other. Whatever this disease was, whatever it was doing to their insides, their brains, it was making them murder their own family, eat them for sustenance. Tear and rip at them just because they could.

Would his family have been like that if they'd made it that far? If he hadn't… done what he did and his mother hadn't left, would they have been reduced to this? His father was already violent and so much bigger than him and his mother. They wouldn't have stood a chance against him. But what about just the two of them? He and his mother looked so much alike. They both had the same color hair, the same thin frames and big blue eyes.

Which of them would have made it? It couldn't have possibly been him. If there was still anything left of him, anything left at all, he wouldn't have been able to hurt her. He wouldn't have been able to fight her on anything— he never had before. Even when things got really bad, when she was being unreasonable and blaming him for everything that had gone wrong, he hadn't been able to deny it. He hadn't been able to fight back for himself.

Because he didn't care about whether or not he ever made it.

His mother was the one he didn't want to get hurt. She was the one he did it for. So… if it came down to just the two of them, he wouldn't have let it be her. He would have died long before she ever did. If he could.

And maybe that was a stupid, ridiculous way for him to be even after everything that had happened. She let him get hurt day after day. She never once stood up for him against his father. She never once helped bandage him up once he was done, passed out drunk for the day. She never once suggested that they leave, that they start up somewhere new without his father pushing at them, destroying them. And after he did what he had to, after he saved the both of them, she left. She just left.

He didn't know if she was taken away or if she disappeared willingly when he needed her the most, but she was still gone. He didn't even really get to tell her goodbye.

But maybe that was just selfish of him, silly and childish and all those other things he should have left behind years ago. She didn't ask for his help. She didn't ask for him to do anything. But he did, and he didn't blame her for hating him for it. She still loved his father more than anything in the world— he would always come second to him. Even if he wished things were the other way around.

He really, _really _wanted things to be the other way around.

"Hey, what are you doing way out here? I thought you were going to sleep too."

Zexion turned toward the tired voice, his body leaning against the balcony's iron railings. Demyx just blinked at the way he stared, taking in the rumpled clothes and the way his bandaged arm stayed protectively cradled to his chest. He had hoped that he'd sleep a little longer; he still needed to heal. And with the transport coming in two days, they were going to need all the luck they could get. "I couldn't. Why are you up? Does your arm hurt? You were still asleep when I left."

The dirty blond furrowed his brows a bit, carelessly pushing his hair away from his eyes with this good hand. "No. I rolled over and you weren't there. I thought you might have… left. I don't know. That's kind of stupid, isn't it," he smiled a little crookedly, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck.

"No," Zexion replied with little hesitation, shaking his head lightly, his slate hair falling over his shallow cheeks. "It isn't stupid." And it wasn't. People get left behind all the time. He just wished he didn't have to know that.

Demyx let his hand drop heavily to his side, sea-foam eyes watching him a little thoughtfully. "Okay. Umm… did you want to do something? I mean, we haven't seen Axel yet. Maybe we could find him, or talk to Roxas agai—," he cut himself off with a yawn, his eyes drooping even as he tried to cover it up.

The smaller of them just smiled a little sadly, resting his chin on his palm as he watched him, "If you're still tired, you should go back to sleep. I'll go back to the room with you, if you want."

"Why would you do that if you couldn't sleep the first time," Demyx asked, carefully leaning sideways against the railing, his oceanic eyes purposefully ignoring what was going on beyond the facility. He honestly just didn't want to know.

"Because you need to sleep," he answered simply, pulling his clothes a little closer toward himself, the chilly November wind blowing at his hair. It was cold here, just as it was everywhere else. Though, maybe it wasn't just the weather. Maybe it was the hollow feeling that was constantly pulling at him, the uncomfortable tug that settled in his bones. Guilt.

Demyx nibbled at his bottom lip, shifting his weight slightly to the side. He didn't know what was wrong. Zexion had been acting a little differently since he had woken up, but he hadn't seemed so sad before, so much like he did in the beginning. It was almost like he was sick again, deliriously fighting against something that wasn't really there. But maybe it was. He didn't really know. "You never answered my question from before. About what you're doing out here."

Zexion blinked at him, too blue eyes a little downcast, a little wary. Finally, he let out a sigh, pushing himself forward against the railing, the ice-like iron biting at his skin through his clothes, "Thinking."

"What about?"

A single gunshot rang out across the yard, echoing off the deserted buildings surrounding the facility. Zexion turned toward the noise, the infected from before now crumpled in a heap over its prey. It looked like someone else had finally noticed it. And that little family was just as gone as his was.

"About people. Do you think we deserve it? To be saved? Even after seeing everything we're capable of, do you still think that we deserve a second chance?"

Demyx swallowed thickly, wrapping his arms around himself, the bandage pulling at his healing skin, the wind tearing at his rumpled clothes. He felt like he was standing on a ledge. Like whatever he said right now would be the wrong thing. "I think… I think that everyone deserves a second chance. No matter what they've done in the past or what they may do in the future. Because even if we're all capable of bad things, we're capable of just as much good. It's just harder to see sometimes."

Zexion snorted, shaking his head, too blue eyes watching the crumpled bodies on the facility's grounds. He should have expected that. Demyx wouldn't understand. "Do you know what I'm capable of," he asked quietly, his breath caught in his throat. Because this would be the end. After he told him, he would leave too. That's just how the world worked.

"Nothing worse than anyone else," the blond replied, his brows furrowing above his eyes, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

And Zexion just straightened his back, pulling away from the railing and turning toward him as honestly as he could, those eyes of his closed off and steeled. Because he didn't want to do this. He didn't want to lose the only person he had left, but he had to. He couldn't let him keep believing he was someone he wasn't. He wasn't like Demyx. He wasn't a good person. He was torn up inside. And it was just going to keep eating at him until there was nothing left.

"I murdered my father."

* * *

><p>Thin lips pressed into tight white lines as he clenched his jaw, locking away the sound that threatened to escape. He wasn't going to say anything unnecessary. He wasn't going to cry like a child or run away. He was too old for any of that; he'd been through too much to let it start getting to him now.<p>

If he let himself breakdown, he wouldn't be getting back up again.

"Has he woken up at all," he asked, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears, his eyes trained on the broken form of his brother carefully pressed beneath the same kind of fabric he'd woken up under, the white sheets tucked around him lovingly. It was obvious that Rude had been there— no one else would have taken that kind of care.

"Some, but never for very long," Rude mumbled a little wistfully, his head turned away from the bed, away from the figure inside it. He couldn't keep looking at him like that; he didn't want to see him in such a way, especially when it was partly his fault. He didn't make it in time. He just… didn't make it.

"Okay," Axel swallowed thickly, clenching his fists in just the slightest way, his gut twisting itself into knots. "Can you… tell me anything? You don't need to tell me what happened; I'm not going to ask. But… what's wrong? How long will he be like this?"

Rude let out a long sigh, something like suffering flowing through it. "I don't know how long he's going to have to stay in the medical ward. The doctor said that it should be for at least a couple of weeks. He has several broken bones that need time to heal a little before he's released. And there's something wrong with one of his lungs— they think he's developed pneumonia. There aren't any antibiotics left that are strong enough to treat it, so they have to keep him under constant supervision. They don't think it should develop enough to kill him, but they said they just wanted to be safe."

The redhead quirked his mouth slightly to the side, emerald eyes gazing across his brother's sleeping form. "He'll heal," he stated simply to reassure both himself and his companion, a false sense of comfort pulling at his bones. "He isn't dead and he isn't infected, so he'll be fine. It's just going to take a little while. We'll just have to wait, you know?"

"Yes," Rude nodded, eyes glazing in just the slightest way behind his glasses. Axel was just like his brother in so many ways. Lanky and redheaded with all these little personality quirks added in. It was weird to see him like this though, acting so much like an adult.

He'd always been just as childish as Reno when it came down to it. Sometimes, it was even like he was just that scared little eight-year-old that Reno introduced him to so many years ago. At the time, Axel was always clinging to his brother's side when he wasn't in school. He remembered Reno dragging him to work with him on the weekends because Axel wouldn't let him out of the apartment without him. And Reno never once complained. He always just smiled and said it made his job easier to have him close by. He didn't have to worry so much that way.

And now, here they both were. Neither one of them were built for this kind of world. Reno was too kindhearted; Axel was too broken, too destroyed by all the abandonments he'd had to put up with. And Axel shouldn't have had to grow up like this. He shouldn't have had to take care of everyone. He shouldn't have had to see his brother like this.

But he did. And he just wasn't the same little boy that used to steal his glasses anymore. That little boy was long gone now— and he'd probably never find his way back.

"I won't be on the transport."

Rude sucked in a silent breath, worry twisting and gnarling in his gut. "Don't talk nonsense, Axel. You came here to get to Destiny Islands. There's nothing left here on the mainland. It's not safe."

The redhead glanced at him through slightly narrowed acidic green eyes, his thin lips pushed together in something like defiance. "I came here because Demyx needed to get here. His little sister is already waiting for him at the Islands and he wouldn't have made it on his own," he stated plainly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Wherever he is right now, he doesn't need me."

"And Reno does," Rude countered, mirroring his position, his voice thankfully remaining steady— he couldn't lose them both. "He'll be taken care of here. There's nothing more you can do for him besides getting yourself out. It's what he'd want you to do."

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't know what he'd tell me to do," the redhead clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. "He'd want me to leave. He'd want me to get on that transport and forget all about ever coming back here. But it's not gonna happen. I'm _not _leaving!"

"Wouldn't it be better for him if he knew you were safe? If he wasn't worrying about you," he replied evenly, taking just the slightest step forward, an action that would have had the younger Axel running.

Instead, he just shook his head as if to clear it, running his hands through his knotted red hair desperately, his shoulders slumping as silence passed between them, stifling in the air. Finally, he sighed, a heavy sort of sound that seemed to echo around them, "I'm not leaving, Rude. I can't… You don't know what it was like, not knowing if I was ever going to get to see him again. He's all I have left— you know that. And I just can't— I have to be able to see him for myself, to know that he's still there. If I leave and he's still here, how am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to know if I'm not alone?"

Rude turned away at the question, his eyes downcast behind his blackened frames. He wasn't surprised. Reno was the same way. For as long as he'd known him, his whole world had revolved around his little brother. And it only made sense. It only made sense for Axel to be the exact same way. They were so dependent on one another that they were practically entwined.

And as much as Rude wanted him to leave, as much as he wanted at least one of them to be completely out of danger, completely safe, it wouldn't happen. Not without the two of them making it out. "Reno won't be happy."

Axel laughed outright, a jerky sort of sound that pulled from his throat, strangled, "That's not stopping you from staying."

"You're right. It's not."

Acidic green met blackened frames, and nothing else needed to be said. Instead, they just watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Reno's thin chest. As long as he was still breathing, they could reassure themselves that he was still alive.

And that's really all that mattered.

* * *

><p>Demyx tightened his grip on himself, those eyes of his watching the way that Zexion was finally looking at him. And maybe he wasn't very smart. Maybe he was a little too idealistic and maybe he didn't really understand, but it was like the words didn't matter. It was the way he was looking at him, the way his frame shook in the wind, the way the dark semicircles under his eyes seemed to all make sense now— It made it okay. No one was perfect. He knew that.<p>

"What did he do," he finally asked, a shaking breath passing through his chapped lips, the sun steadily dropping in the distance.

Zexion just blinked at him, a shattering look in his eyes, a strange sort of vulnerability that he hadn't seen since he was breaking in front of him, the two of them locked away in that little room. And he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand seeing him like that. It wasn't right; it wasn't okay. There was already so much hurt in their world— they couldn't possibly handle any more of it.

"Why would— What makes you think that he— that he did something? What makes you think I didn't just do it because I… wanted to," he mumbled, his voice a little more than broken, a little more than disbelieving. Because this wasn't how it worked. This wasn't how things worked for him. Demyx should hate him. He should hate him because that's what he deserved. He'd hurt someone, and no matter what his reasons were, he still did it. He couldn't go back and change it. He couldn't make it disappear like it never happened in the first place.

The dead didn't come back. The past didn't go away.

"Because you wouldn't have done it otherwise," Demyx stated, taking a step forward, watching the way that Zexion took a step back. "So… what did he do? What made you do it?"

"I…," Zexion trailed, swallowing thickly, his brows furrowing above his eyes, his slender little fingers knotting against the fabric across his chest. "I don't know… He— He would hurt us sometimes. My mom and I, I mean. It wasn't always at first. It was just when he was angry or frustrated and it didn't really hurt, but then he, he started to do it all the time. He would drink too much and scream and it was like mom didn't really notice the difference. But he didn't— I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have."

Zexion let out a frustrated little noise, his hands pushing at his hair, those deep blue eyes of his a little too wide, like he was terrified to even think about _why _he did what he did, like he didn't want to think about it because he couldn't reason it out to himself. He did it for his mother. He did it for himself. He did it because he had to, because he couldn't keep letting them get hurt. They couldn't live like that. They couldn't survive like that. Not with everything getting worse. Not with the beatings lasting longer and the _words_. They just got worse and worse until he couldn't make them go away anymore. He couldn't stop thinking about them.

But it was wrong. Even if it hurt, even if he couldn't handle it anymore, he shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have done something like that. His father wasn't always like that. He was different before. He'd let him have piggyback rides in their backyard and bring him candy when he came in late from work. He'd drive him to school when it rained and come to his track meets on the weekends. He didn't always hurt him. He wasn't always angry.

He couldn't have possibly _deserved_ it.

But what else was he supposed to do? The three of them weren't a family anymore. His parents were always at odds. Someone always got hurt. Someone always got screamed at and pushed away and— he didn't want to remember everything. He didn't want to remember the blood on the kitchen floor or the bruises or the way his mother would tell him to apologize when he was the one hurting.

He didn't want to. He didn't want to. _He didn't want to_. But he _did_.

Demyx grabbed at his hands, coming forward just enough to stop their frantic movements, his own damaged arm burning at the strain. He pushed them down and held them with his own, watching the way that Zexion seemed to quiet, the way he just watched him with those eyes of his so very lost. And he didn't want this. He didn't want to know all of this. But he needed to and he had to and _damn it_— He just wanted to help. Was that such a terrible thing? Was that so wrong? Wanting to help someone who was so obviously hurting? Wanting to take away some of their pain?

"He tried to kill me," Zexion whispered against him, his eyes watching him, his voice strangely even. "He was the only one home when I came in from school because mom had taken one of the afternoon shifts at work that week. And he was angry about something. I don't know what it was because I never got that far. He just started screaming as soon as I came through the door."

He took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes, images twisting behind his closed lids. His memory was fuzzy, but he could remember the way his back hit the wall with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs, the way those taunts sounded in his ears when he tried to run away, when he picked the gun up from the counter. "He never thought I would actually do it. He didn't even try to get away."

The blond swallowed, pulling him a little closer to his chest by his hands. He didn't try to pull away. Instead, he just buried himself against his shirt, soaking up the warmth and affection he'd missed out on. "It wasn't your fault," he said simply, staring over Zexion's shoulder, out onto the grounds, the City of Departure that was just as scarred now as everything else.

"Tell that to my mother," the smaller grumbled scornfully, pressing himself a little closer to his chest, his back tensing as Demyx moved one of his calloused hands to rub the knots along his clothed spine.

And Demyx just pressed a kiss to his cheek, his chapped lips ghosting over the shallow skin. He couldn't take away all the hurt. He couldn't make it all go away and he couldn't make everything better, but he could help heal it. He could help it scar over and become just a memory, like everything else in their world.

Because that was all that was left now. Memories of what once was and dreams of what could have been.

Zexion twisted his head to the side, their lips meeting briefly, chastely in something that wasn't quite what it could have been, but was everything it needed to be.

"Tell me again," he asked, those eyes of his wide as their lips pulled away from each another.

"Tell me again that everyone deserves a second chance."

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><p><strong>AN: N****o one died last chapter. Who saw that one coming? O.o**

**Anyway, I don't really have a lot to say about this chapter. The majority of it was written extremely spaced out, so I apologize if it doesn't really seem to flow well. I've given up on fixing it, and frankly, I can't read over it again without just turning the computer off. **

**The first scene was a little different for me to write, simply because Zexion's starting to show a bit more of his personality. (I do enjoy Xigbar though. He's such a loon~). It was the same way with the third scene, even though it was mostly from Demyx's point of view.**

**The second and fifth scene were difficult. I've never written Rude before, and honestly, the only think I know about him was that he was in the Advent Children movie. I apologize if I got any part of him extremely wrong. But Reno did live, and I hope it's obvious how relieved they both are by that. I'm not really sure how well that comes across.**

**And that leads us to the fourth and sixth scene between Demyx and Zexion. And I'm honestly not sure about either of them. My plotline was a little fuzzy from the beginning about how this was going to play out, so I kind of just went with whatever felt right. I don't entirely hate it, but... I don't know. What did you think? **

**Also, Roxas is terribly neglected in this chapter. ^^;**

**Production: I'm not sure when the last chapter will be out. As it is, I'm hoping to have the next chapter up sometime in October. I ask that in the meantime you please, _please _do not send me reviews _just_ asking me for updates. Please either send a PM or check my profile. Update reviews ****stress me out, mess with the review counter, and will be deleted. I'm sorry if that causes any problems. **

**Question: How do you feel about Rude? How do you feel about Zexion and Demyx, especially in the last scene?**

**Quiz Winners: No one. I told you it would be hard. Finale Di Amore, Raayy1, Alis Aethyria, and Dk7890 each got it half right. So, props to you because that quiz had absolutely nothing to do with anything else in the story! **

**Quiz Answer: Leader- Sephiroth; Holding Zexion- Lexaeus (Sephiroth could be inferred from Kadaj; Lexaeus could be inferred from the mentioning of "bulky frame") **

**New Quiz: None. The next chapter is the last, so how about a guess? How do you think it's all going to end? I know, but do you? **

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Chapters (Also, all signed reviews are responded to). ^_^**


	10. The End of The Beginning

**This chapter is horribly later than expected. The past year and a half has been both good and bad. And very, very busy. I hope that this chapter lives up to the expectations of those of you who are still reading.**

**Summary: _Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle..._**

**Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned within this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment- check back next month. **

**Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. If it weren't for you, I would have never managed to finish this. **

**Also, this chapter is not betaed. All mistakes are my own. If you find anything, please let me know. I'll fix them as best as I can. **

**Happy reading!**

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><p><strong>November 17, 2011<strong>

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><p>Oceanic blue eyes swiveled from side to side, blinking away the crusted remnants of sleep, examining the way the faint morning light illuminated the pale yellow walls. Gently, their owner rolled to her side, slipping one pale foot over the edge of the bed, lithe little toes bending as she shifted her weight onto the cold, wooden floor. She smiled as she tried to straighten, one leg half bent over the mattress, the other trying to keep her from falling forward. There was a hand clutching at her nightgown— an oversized shirt that had once belonged to Demyx (she had stolen it from his closet so many times that he'd stopped trying to get it back)— and that hand didn't seem to want to let go, its slender fingers knotted around the bunched fabric. Quietly, smiling all the while, she untangled the digits, one by one, replacing her worn nightgown with the plush white comforter she'd recently been resting under. Kairi's face scrunched in response, her button nose crinkling, her lips falling into a light frown, but she simply rolled to her other side in something like defiance, burrowing further under the blankets, strands of thick red hair peeking out from underneath.<p>

Naminé laughed quietly to herself, a strange sort of sound she muffled behind her palm as she tip-toed across the cold floor, goose bumps running up her legs and pulling at her navel. She stopped once she slid out the door, leaning back against the wooden frame, biting at her lower lip. The house was still around her, silent in the cool morning air, bits of sunlight reflecting off the pictures on the wall. It was homely and warm and impossibly inviting and—

She felt like an intruder.

When she had gotten to the Islands, she had been placed in a hotel with her classmates. It was bright and airy, but it wasn't permanent. No one lived there; no one called that place home. When chaos had broken out on the mainland, she had been placed in a high school with all the other refugees. It was full of student artwork, dusty trophy cases, and bulging lockers, but it wasn't a home. It wasn't a place where families gathered. It was just… a space. Nothing more than a place of learning, of talking with friends and teachers and— leaving. No one stayed there forever.

But this wasn't just a space. This was a home. This was _someone's_ home. And she was just a guest. Someone that didn't know the island way of life. Someone that never should have been allowed here at all.

When Riku had extended the invitation to stay with him and Sora at his aunt and uncle's house, she had wanted to decline. She had wanted to grab Kairi's hand and smile her most apologetic smile, the one that always fooled her friends, her teachers— everyone. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the offer— or even want it deep down. It was that this made everything too permanent. If she and Kairi and everyone else were left in the school or the hotel, they were simply misplaced for a while. Naminé could pretend that everything would be okay, that there was merely a problem with the airlines or a mix-up with paperwork or… anything at all. She could hold on to the hope that this was all temporary. That she could still go home. That there was no reason for Demyx not to be okay, not to be alive and well and worried about her because she'd been gone for so long.

But that was a fool's hope. Things were different now. People were getting hurt. And she couldn't just grab Kairi and smile. She couldn't refuse.

The transport from the mainland had become a top priority among the Destiny Islands' meager body of government. All displaced persons taking refuge in the island's hotels and school buildings were ordered to evacuate and relocate elsewhere in preparation for the flood of people the transport would presumably be bringing onto the island. There were officials standing by to place them— starting with the younger children— into family-owned homes. It would have been foolish for her and Kairi to refuse the offer and wait to be placed. There were too many people and too few places for them to go.

She sighed at the thought, shaking her head, blonde tangles falling into her eyes, toes curling inward. She felt like an ungrateful child. She should be thankful— happy even— for her good fortune. Riku's aunt and uncle had taken her and Kairi in with open arms. They had provided them with food, shelter, and even a bed to sleep on. Yet, here she was, wishing she was back at the high school, wishing she was _home_.

"You're up early."

Naminé startled at the noise, tangled blonde hair falling to the side as she turned toward the sound, oceanic eyes wide. Riku stood just a few feet away, a crooked smile on his pale lips, a pair of sweatpants sliding down his boney hips. He looked like he had been awake for quite some time, his strangely colored eyes alert, his silvery hair brushed and tucked neatly behind his ears.

She tried to smile back at him, but it must have been wrong, because he tilted his head to the side immediately afterwards, eyes glazing with something like concern. She opened her mouth, as if to reassure him, but she quickly snapped it closed, biting at her lower lip with her teeth. She had never been alone with Riku before. There was always a buffer between them— Sora or Kairi. It was never just her and him… and she wasn't entirely sure what to say. She could change the subject with Kairi, get her started on something else entirely until she'd completely forgotten what they were supposed to be talking about, and she could fool Sora, hiding behind her pretty smile and childlike eyes. She couldn't do any of that with Riku. Those eyes of his would see right through her in an instant. So, she said the only thing she honestly could. "I couldn't sleep."

Riku nodded a bit at that, sea-like eyes shifting away from the frail girl and into the living area behind him. Sora was curled up on the couch, knees pulled to his chin beneath the blankets, messy brown hair flattened against his pillow. It had taken Riku hours to get Sora to fall asleep the night before. The brunet was too wound up, too upset and preoccupied with Roxas to shut down for the night. If Naminé was feeling anything like Sora, he could understand why she looked so distressed. Her eyes weren't red-rimmed like they were the day they had met, but… she was no better off than Sora. Their sadness went beyond visible tears.

"Come with me. I know a little trick that might help you sleep a few more hours," Riku stated, turning back toward the blonde and motioning her forward as he slipped down the hall and entered his family's whitewashed kitchen, listening all the while for quiet footsteps following along behind him. He pulled a stool out from under the bar as he passed, the tear in the worn fabric catching on his fingertips for just the slightest moment. He flashed Naminé a genuine smile, hoping to calm her down as he motioned for her to sit, and began to bustle about the kitchen. "Do you like chocolate?"

The blonde quirked her head to the side, blue eyes lighting up, thin lips pulling upwards despite her uneasiness. "I adore chocolate," she answered honestly.

The male turned to her with an empty mug in hand, a childish flourish in his step as he held it up like a prize, the dark blue glass glowing happily in the early sunlight. Naminé snorted at the uncharacteristic little dance, oceanic eyes going wide as she covered her mouth with her hands, near-silent giggles escaping her pink lips. Riku sent her a kind smile, hands beginning to make her hot chocolate, eyes watching her with amusement. That little trick always made Sora laugh— and he normally saved it especially for him. But he didn't think that Sora would mind. "I'm glad. Otherwise, this wouldn't work very well."

Naminé quieted, pressing her lips together in amusement, hands sliding down to rest in her lap, "No. I guess it wouldn't."

Riku filled the mug with a brownish liquid, steam rising from the top and tickling his nose. He blew on it a couple of times, setting the still steaming mug down in front of the waiting blonde before leaning against the bar across from her. She lifted it with pale fingers, lips blowing at the rising wisps of steam, their corners turned upward into a small smile. Riku thought she looked a lot better smiling, as opposed to crying. Tears didn't suit a face like hers— a face like Sora's. But worries and concerns, problems of all shapes and sizes— they were hardly ever solved with smiles. They were barely faced with tears.

"Why can't you sleep," he asked her simply, even though he already knew the answer, voice kept low to avoid scaring her off, to avoid waking Sora who really wasn't that far away.

"I..," she started, trailing off, blue eyes swiveling between her steaming mug and the sea-like orbs across from her. "I think…," she stopped again with a little huff, shaking her head. There was no reason for her to lie. "I'm worried. I'm worried about my parents and my old house and… my brother. I'm worried that the transport is going to get to the City of Departure and that he— he won't be there. That he'll miss it or he won't— he won't be able to make it," she bit her lower lip, voice echoing around them, silent tear drops falling into her mug, her palms coming up to wipe them away, a pained laugh crawling up from her throat. "I'm sorry. I don't—"

"There's no need to be sorry," Riku cut her off, resting his chin on one of his palms, smiling at her a little sadly. He leaned forward ever so slightly to tuck a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She smiled back at him dejectedly, more out of reflex than anything. And she really did look better when she smiled. "I think you should only be sorry if you're not worried— if you're not upset. He's your brother. You're supposed to worry about him."

She colored a bit at that, too blue orbs watching her mug of hot chocolate, her pale fingers tinting red from the heat. "I just want him to be okay, you know?"

Riku leaned back at that, following her movements thoughtfully. It wasn't a question that needed to be answered, and he didn't want to give her any false hopes. He didn't want to tell her that her brother was still alive, that her parents would be able to hug her again, or that she would be able to go home soon. He didn't want to tell her any of that, just like he didn't want to tell Sora. He didn't want them to believe him and then hate him when it was over— because he'd lied, because he'd fed into their fantasies and let them get crushed when they didn't come true. But even so, he could reassure her just this once, couldn't he? That wouldn't be so bad, would it?

Naminé finished her mug, tentatively setting it in the sink like she had been told the day before. And just as she was stepping away, her eyes growing heavy with sleep and exhaustion, from tears and barely realized contentedness, Riku grabbed her hand with one of his, slender fingers, squeezing for just the slightest moment. It was just this once. Just this one time.

"He will be. Your brother— he'll be okay."

His voice was rushed and jagged, like he wasn't able to form the words like he should have been, like they were foreign and wrong. But he could feel her squeeze back against his fingers, feel the weight lifting from his chest, like he'd done the right thing— made everything better for just a moment or two. And he could literally feel her smile as she padded away, the door at the end of the hall opening and closing with just the barest hint of a squeak.

He stood there for a moment, one hand coming up to run through his hair, the other knotting against Naminé's lingering touch. And then the moment was over and he was tiptoeing back into the living room. He stopped over the couch, body hovering over Sora's, fingertips lightly skimming over the other's arm absentmindedly.

Sora's hand curling over his own stopped him some time later, his palm warm and inviting. Sleepy blue orbs met those of the sea.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

The brunet smiled at that, lacing their fingers together, rubbing his thumb along the back of the other's hand, "Nothing… Nothing at all."

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><p>Demyx pressed his chapped lips together, his damaged arm held close to his chest, his shoulders hunching beneath the layers of fabric stretched over his shoulders. He should have felt relieved. The transport had arrived hours ago, and people were steadily boarding the steel vessel. Pretty soon, so would he. He would be pushed onto the ship just like the others. He would be leaving the poisoned mainland. He would be safe. And isn't that what he wanted, what they all wanted? To be safe? To finally be away from the screams of the infected, from the wreckage of what was left of their world?<p>

But he didn't feel relieved.

He felt cold— and it wasn't the kind of cold that he felt before, that was caused by the chilly November air or the icy waters. It was the kind of cold that seeped deep into his bones and caused his stomach to steel with dreadful anticipation. It was the kind of cold that made him worry, that made him feel like there was something horribly wrong with this situation. That whatever was going to come next wasn't safe. That he shouldn't be here— that _none_ of them should be here.

He jerked as slender fingers wrapped around his own, the digits squeezing in something like desperation, a brittle shoulder bumping into him on his right. He turned toward the movement in just the slightest way, dirty blond hair falling against his cheeks, oceanic eyes catching one cobalt orb for a fleeting moment. Zexion didn't say anything. He just laced their fingers together a little more thoroughly and kept moving forward, following the crowd closer and closer to the ship. It wouldn't be long now before they could board. And then, he could stop worrying. After all, what was going to happen to them now? They were already so close to freedom, to leaving the mainland behind. He had nothing to worry about.

But he was worried. He was so, so worried. A million things could go right for them now, but a million others could go wrong. And he always wanted to look on the bright side of life, to look at the positive in any given situation, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about all of this. And maybe it was because Axel wasn't there with him like he always was. Maybe it was because the redhead wasn't holding his hand anymore— because Axel had his brother and Demyx wasn't going to ask him to leave him because he needed protecting, because he needed him to make him feel safe. But, maybe it wasn't just that. Maybe it was the horde of people in front and behind him that reminded him of the monsters hiding within the inner walls of the city— they were all so thin, worn clothes hanging from their bodies, eyes surrounded by dark crescent moons. They were nearly the same as the others, only still breathing, still clinging to life. And he and Zexion and Roxas— the three of them must look the same. The way they all looked— that couldn't be what was making his heart sink into his chest. It just couldn't.

Oceanic orbs narrowed, chilled breath catching in their owner's lungs. Demyx stopped in his tracks, his head jerking from one side to the other, Roxas and Zexion glancing at him questioningly, lithe little fingers tugging at his hand. "What's wrong," the shorter blond whispered, button nose scrunching, icy blue eyes swiveling between Demyx and the transport, people continuing to board, unaware of what was happening beyond their position in the crowd.

"It's quiet," Demyx whispered back, almost like it was a secret, the fingers from his free hand clutching at the material of his jacket, the wound on his arm stinging at the added pressure.

"It's supposed to be," Roxas replied, coaxing him forward so they were moving again, keeping up with the rest of the crowd. "If we all start talking, we'll lure a horde. You know that."

"No— I know— It's just…," Demyx huffed quietly to himself, trying to get his point across, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth.

Zexion blinked at him, squeezing their linked fingers, backpack heavy against his back, the worn straps pulling uncomfortably against his boney shoulders. "Why do you want it to be louder," he asked, deep blue orbs staring at their shuffling feet, one knobby knee poking out from beneath his tattered blue jeans.

"I don't… It's not the people. It's everything else."

Roxas clenched his teeth at that, lips quirking slightly to the side, icy blue eyes shifting to the trees in the distance, to the decorative bushes and silent buildings nearby. Demyx was right. Nothing was making any noise. And that made sense for the people— sound attracts hordes; sound equals danger. But what about the trees? What about the animals that were supposed to be in them? What about the birds and the squirrels and whatever else inhabited them? They weren't in the same kind of danger. They had no reason to be silent.

And it was possible that they just weren't there anymore. That the animals had recognized that there was something poisonous in this city, that they had retreated to a safer area. But it just didn't make sense.

It felt like a bad horror movie. The kind that you watch to laugh at the actors, the kind that's hardly scary because you can already see everything coming before it happens.

"Just keep moving. We'll be fine," Roxas stated, crossing his arms in front of his chest, baggy jeans slipping down his hips as he moved. As long as they kept moving forward, they would be fine. The transport couldn't possibly hold everyone that was gathered at the mainland, but they were close enough to the ship that they should be fine. Whatever was going to happen probably wouldn't happen to them.

And wasn't that the worst way to think.

Demyx shook his head, more to himself than anything. Roxas was much more of a survivor than he was. If the blond wasn't worried, than he shouldn't be either. It was probably nothing anyway. He was just being paranoid.

Gunshots rang out up ahead, followed by the sound of voices. Angry voices. Human voices. The effect on the crowd was instantaneous, a nervous sort of hum filling the air, people beginning to talk back and forth. Asking questions that didn't really have any answers, feet stopping their desperate trek toward their only chance at safety. Demyx couldn't see what had happened. But, whatever it was, it was near the transport. And it wasn't good.

The voices up ahead began to rise, bits and pieces here and there hitting his ears. There was something wrong. They weren't letting someone board— they were fighting, people pushing forward, trying to get on the transport, trying to avoid the guards at the ship's entrance.

And just like that, there was chaos. People started pushing against his back, his wounded arm burning as he was pressed against the people in front of him, Zexion's cheek colliding with his shoulder, his lithe body stumbling forward. More shots were fired up ahead, orders being shouted over the crowd to stay quiet, to stay in line, to stay calm— but no one was listening anymore. They just kept moving, trying to get to the transport, trying to get to safety. Screams came from the back of the line as a putrid stench began to fill the air, true panic filling the crowd.

They were here. _They_ had found them.

Demyx rushed forward with the crowd, his breath caught in his chest, fingers tugging at Zexion to make sure they stayed together. He could feel Roxas' hand clenched around the fabric of his jacket, a splotch of honey blond hair at his side. In front of them, the guards were pushing the crowd back, readying the boat for departure even though people were still trying to board. Behind them, the horde was coming closer, touching at the last of the crowd of people, the screams of the damned and the screams of the infected filling the once silent air.

He stumbled as they made it to the ramp, the terrified people behind them pushing him in such a way that he was unable to fall, the shouting from in front of them and the screaming from behind them pressing against his ears, everything muffling to a dull sort of roar. He tightened his grip on Zexion's fingers, sweat slickening them, the lithe digits trying desperately to hold on.

"I've got you. I've got you," he screamed against the other, his voice barely heard above the crowd, their fingers sliding against one another. Zexion's was pushed sideways, his bag catching on the moving bodies behind him.

And then he was gone, deep blue orbs wide as he was carried away.

"Zexion," Demyx yelled desperately, oceanic eyes terrified as the smaller disappeared, his frail body swallowed by the crowd in seconds. He was pushed to the side, his body bumping into Roxas', the two of them crashing into the ship's rails, the honey blond clutching fiercely at his jacket, at the rails before them. They could see the massacre on the mainland, beneath the ship's edge. People were running everywhere now— not just toward the ship, but toward the city, toward the water. They were just trying to get away. Away from the blood and the stench and the screaming.

And they weren't going to make it.

Another surge of people pushed onto the boat, the crowd pressing them more forcefully against the rails. Demyx squeezed his eyes shut, his injured arm joining his other, trying to hold on as his ribs were pressed into the unwavering steel. He felt his body begin to lift, his lips pressing together as he realized what was happening— _they were going to push him off_. There were so many people trying to reach the boat… and the boat simply couldn't hold them all.

He was going to get pushed over the side.

Taking a deep breath— a panicked breath, Demyx pressed his knees against the rails, winding his leg around the bar by his feet. He couldn't let them push him over. He had to get to Naminé. No matter what, he couldn't let them push him over— she was waiting for him. His little sister was waiting for him and he wouldn't— he couldn't let this be it. He was going to make it. He _had_ to make it.

The ship moved beneath his feet, his body sliding to the side as the transport was put into motion, as they disembarked from the mainland, people trying to jump aboard even as they left, the ramp still scrapping along the ground, the sheer mass of people preventing the crew from letting it up. People were still pushing, pressing him against the rails as they made room for those who were still coming aboard. And a new kind of screaming was starting to well up against the sounds of the infected and their prey.

People from the ship, those who were being pushed overboard, those who were being trampled by the panicked, by the desperate.

Demyx held on tighter to the bars, his injured arm screaming at him to stop, stop, _stop_— and he couldn't. He had to hang on; he just _had_ to. He coughed as his lungs searched violently for air, his ribs pressing viciously against the rails. And the people wouldn't stop— they continued to press against his back, to push him farther and farther into the steel, unaware of what they were doing, uncaring that they were.

He felt fingers knot uselessly in the fabric of his jacket, the article slipping from shoulder with a violent tug. Oceanic eyes shot open, just in time to watch as Roxas went over the side of the ship, those icy orbs of his terrified as his fingers lost their grip, as he hit the water. Demyx watched helplessly from the rails as Roxas went down, his body disappearing beneath the water only to resurface again seconds later, coughing and sputtering. And he couldn't do anything. He couldn't move to help him, he couldn't call out to him because of the lack of air in his lungs and— he could only watch.

Watch as the ship moved farther and farther out to sea, and Roxas became farther and farther away.

The screams on the ship began to renew in volume, echoing along with those on the mainland, the pressure lifting from Demyx's back, his body falling backwards with a jerk, his hands trying desperately to keep him in place. He could hear the sound of people hitting the water, not just from the rails. They were falling down the ramp, their bodies tumbling into the sea, terror filling them— not unlike Roxas. The dirty blond coughed, wheezing as air filled his lungs, oceanic eyes searching beneath the boat— searching for honey blond and icy blue.

They found him.

Roxas was swimming back toward the mainland at an angle, riding the currents in a way that would push him farther away from the docks and hopefully farther away from the horde.

He hoped Roxas made it. He hoped— oh god, he hoped. And he cried. He cried for all the people who never made it to the boat, the people who wanted so badly to get to loved ones on the Islands but never had a chance. He cried for the people who lost family members and for those who never had families to begin with. He cried for the infected and the people who didn't make it.

And mostly, he cried because he did.

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><p>Nimble fingers curled around worn cloth, brittle bones creaking as he shifted his weight from one side to the other. The man in front of him just blinked, his pitch black hair falling down his broad shoulders, his eyes completely indifferent to the bruised child standing before him— he had seen it all, heard it all before. And it had been a long day.<p>

"I can't help you," he grumbled as he leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs screeching as they collided with the ship's laminate flooring.

Zexion gritted his teeth, deep blue pools narrowing dangerously. He wasn't a fighter. Life had told him that time and time again. And normally, he didn't question it. Normally, he didn't really care. He could deal with a little pain here and there— he'd almost always had worse. But, this wasn't about him. And he was running out of time. "Can't or won't," he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Lieutenant Xaldin, I was under the assumption that this transport was sent from Destiny Islands to _help_ the people left on the mainland, not cause them harm. You are _obligated_ to help the people on this boat. Seeing as dozens of this transport's original passengers have already died in transit— due to you and your men's _inability_ to deliver proper crowd control when necessary— I would assume that you should be going out of your way to protect those whom you negligence has _yet to kill_."

The Lieutenant growled, the chair ramming into the wall with a resounding thump as he stood, his bulky frame leaning over the wooden desk before him, his hulking arms and broad shoulders bulging beneath his navy blue coat, the Destiny Islands insignia glowing against his chest. "How dare you," he accused, thin lips pulling into something like a snarl, dark eyes narrowing in anger. "This is _my _ship! I am in charge of my men! And we are doing everything we can to ensure that all of you make it to the Islands! I will not take time away from the passengers at large to help one person, who may or may not even be onboard!"

"And what are you doing for the _passengers at large_," Zexion quoted, clenching his teeth, leaning his frail frame forward so that he too was grabbing at the desk, pushing against its wooden surface. Deep blue met angry purple. "I am not the first person that has come into this office— and there's a line that will be coming in after me. What have you done for them? Something? Anything? Name one person you've helped since we boarded this boat!" He pointed to the door in one violent motion, his chest heaving, his pulse beating rapidly beneath his skin.

A vein in Xaldin's neck bulged, "That's _enough, _you little—!"

The door to the cabin opened with a pull at its rusted hinges. The both of them stopping in their argument long enough to watch another man walk in. He wore a uniform much like Xaldin's, the pants and jacket a matching navy with the Destiny Islands insignia pressed against its breast, but he was smaller, leaner with ganglier limbs and a strangely crooked smile on his face. "I don't know what's going on in here, but I can hear it out in the hallway. You're scaring the passengers— they're starting to panic again, Lieutenant."

Xaldin growled low in his throat, his body slowly lowering into his chair, his chest still bulging outward. "It's nothing, Luxord. We're done here. The child was just leaving."

"Not until I get what I came here for," Zexion snipped, his button nose scrunching angrily, the newly formed bruise around his eye stinging in something like pain. He wasn't backing down. Not this time.

"Then you'll be spending the rest of this journey locked in a cabin below deck and transported to the juvenile authorities as soon as we reach the Islands. Is that clear," Xaldin asked with narrowed eyes, his large knuckles tightening as his fingers wound themselves into a fist.

Zexion didn't flinch. "I'll scream. I'll scare every damn passenger on this boat," he threatened, pushing himself impossibly closer to the desk, his slender bones pressing into the wood. "I'm tiny. How do you think it's going to look when you drag me out of here? I'll put up a fight, but I'm so much smaller than you that it won't even matter. You'll look like a bully. Do you really think that those people out there are going to listen to you— trust you— after you pull a stunt like that?"

"You insolent little bas—"

"Hey, hey, hey," the other man piped, putting his hands up in something like surrender as he took a few steps closer to the pair, that strangely crooked smile still pulling at his lips. "I think I have a solution to this. I'll help the boy with whatever he needs, and you can get back to dealing with the other passengers. Everybody wins."

"I do not take threats idly, Luxord." Purple eyes narrowed at the boy in front of him, Zexion's arms crossed over his chest, his brittle bones visible through his shirt's thin cloth.

Luxord just shrugged, running one of his hands through his platinum blond hair, bright blue eyes transferring between the two. "Look, the kid has a point. He looks like death just warmed over. If we lock him up, people are going to talk— and they're going to talk loud. If we do this my way, the kid gets what he wants and we don't have to deal with a riot. Again, win-win. You can't beat those odds in a bet, man."

Xaldin gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw visibly clenching in barely suppressed anger. "Fine. Have it your way. Just get him out of my sight."

Zexion felt the other man grab his elbow, slender fingers wrapping around his arm, the appendages unwrapping from their crisscrossed position as he was led from the room. He glanced back at the Lieutenant's bulky frame before being pulled into the hallway. The man simply narrowed his eyes at him, and let him be. He'd won. Zexion had won. But it wasn't over yet.

"So," Luxord drawled, stopping them once they reached the upper deck, the line to Xaldin's door far below them, "what is it that you want anyway? I mean, it must be important. Mostly everyone wants blankets, food, and the like, but I doubt you would risk jail time over that. You seem like a smart enough kid."

He sighed, letting his deep blue eyes shift down to his feet, watching his toes curl through the holes in his old running shoes. "I'm looking for someone," he stated. "We were separated when we boarded."

"A lot of people were separated, kid. And some of them aren't here anymore."

Zexion started, shaking his head at the thought. People were trampled during the panic at the mainland, but that didn't mean he had to accept the possibility that Demyx was one of them. "He was hurt a couple of days ago. I have his medicine with me. He's supposed to take it every twelve hours. I need to find him."

The blond sighed, crossing his arms at his chest, bright blue eyes softening a little sadly. He didn't know if the kid's friend was still alive or not, but… there was no harm in looking. The poor kid had probably lost everything already. The least he could do was try to find what he had left. "Alright. I've been running errands on the decks since the last of the panic at the docks. If he's here, I've probably seen him."

"Dead or alive, right? By errands on the decks, you mean that you've been throwing the dead overboard to make room," Zexion replied, blue-tinted hair falling against his cheeks, chapped lips pressing into a tight line.

Luxord's lips curled into a sad sort of smile. "Yeah, kid. That's what I've been doing. If he went over, I probably saw him when it happened. If he's still here, I've probably seen him." Luxord ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous sort of twitch pulling at their tips. "Look, I'm not promising you that we're going to find him in the condition you want him to be in, but at least you'll know."

"Does knowing make it better," he asked, mostly to himself. He knew what happened to his father— he killed him. The knowledge of the what and the how and the why, it didn't make it better; it didn't even make it make sense. But, what about his mother? He didn't know anything about what happened to her. Was he more content in the knowledge he held about his father's death, or of the possibility of his mother's? He honestly didn't know.

The blond quieted at that, the question he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear pressing against his ears. He didn't have an answer for the kid. And really, who was he to say even if he did have the answer? He'd been on the Islands for all of this time. He knew nothing of the world on the mainland over the last few weeks. People were dying everywhere— and he didn't know if knowing what happened to them made the idea of their loss any better. He just… didn't know. "Alright. Well, I've got quite the memory for cards, so let's see if that holds up for faces. Tell me who you're looking for, and I'll do my best to find him."

Zexion looked back at the man, both deep blue pools momentarily exposed as he brushed his bangs behind his ear, the discolored bruises on his fingers throbbing in just the slightest way as he brought them back to the straps on his tattered bag. "His name is Demyx. He has blue eyes, like— like the ocean. And dirty blond hair. It's longer on the bottom than on the top, kind of like a mullet but not."

Luxord smiled widely at that, his whitened teeth showing as his lips spread back against his cheeks. "I see that cards are certainly playing in your favor. I'm pretty sure I know who you're talking about. He should be somewhere on the lower deck. I saw him this afternoon while we were collecting the deceased. Come on, I'll show you were I saw him last."

And just like that, Zexion felt Luxord's spindly fingers wrap around his elbow again. This time, he followed the man through the crowded upper deck, people brushing against him as the blond cleared a path, his worn shoes catching on the stairs as they went down. The lower deck was even more crowded— desolate-looking people covering nearly every inch of the space, blankets huddled around their knees to ward off the growing chill in the air— but Luxord didn't seem to mind. Instead, he pulled him along step by step until they were at the far side of the deck, the side nearest the loading ramp, the side that took the most damage during the panic.

Zexion's breath caught in his throat as he saw him, his body colliding lightly with Luxord's as the man stopped in front of him. Demyx was huddled against one of the rails, his legs thrown over the side of the ship, his seat situated on the boat's deck. He wasn't facing them. He was facing behind them, where the mainland had long since disappeared in the distance. And Roxas wasn't with him.

"I see my work here is done," Luxord stated, patting Zexion on the back and pushing him forward, his lithe little feet stepping over the people between him and Demyx, the blond who had helped him slipping from his mind. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the dirty blond, his back straight, his lips quivering.

He felt relieved.

Even though Roxas wasn't with him and he had no idea what had happened to him, he felt unbelievably relieved to know that the one and only person he truly trusted— truly cared about— was still alive. And he didn't know how to deal with that or what he was supposed to say, but… he wanted to try. He really, really wanted to try.

"Hey."

Demyx jolted, dirty blond hair brushing against his cheeks, oceanic eyes widening as he turned his head back toward the crowded decks. And there stood Zexion, His body was just as thin and frail as it had always been, his clothes seemingly hanging from his meager frame. The panic had obviously taken its toll on him, a few newly formed bruises clearly visible on his pale skin, but… he was smiling in a way that Demyx didn't think he would ever forget, straight rows of pearly white teeth beaming at him, too blue eyes watching him with something like elation. He was okay. He was really okay.

"Hey. I looked for you," the dirty blond smiled, turning back toward the water as Zexion moved to take a seat beside him, his lithe legs pulled to his chin, those deep blue orbs watching Demyx's face instead of the endless ocean before them.

"And I found you," Zexion replied simply, the smile on his face disappearing as he pressed his cheek to his knees. Demyx didn't really mind— his eyes were just as bright as before.

"I—," Demyx stopped himself, biting at his lower lip, shaking his head back and forth as if to clear it. Zexion seemed so happy to see him— and he was happy to see Zexion. Honestly, he really was. But, at the same time, he was almost ashamed of that happiness. Ashamed of himself for being so happy when they'd lost someone, when he didn't know if Roxas was okay, when he didn't know if he was even _alive_. It was just… selfish of him, wasn't it? "Roxas isn't here."

Zexion blinked at him, his arms pulling his legs a little closer, the straps from his worn backpack pressing uncomfortably against his shoulder blades. "Do you want to tell me what happened," he asked, his voice catching at his throat. He had already guessed that Roxas wasn't with them. Life would never allow for things to go so well.

Demyx swallowed, a sad smile pulling at his lips, his oceanic eyes staring at the sea all around them. "He went over," he stated, pressing his chin against the steel rail in front of him, his legs dangling over the edge.

Zexion turned his head away, his bangs falling into his face, his fingers knotting into the fabric of his jeans. And as much as he had expected to hear those words, they still caused a sinking feeling in his gut, a pulling at his chest. He didn't really know Roxas. He didn't know what his favorite color was, or if he had a big family or a little one or no one at all. He didn't know if he was living for someone he had lost or living because he hadn't found them yet. But… he liked Roxas. He knew that he liked to argue, and that he didn't always have to get physical when he did. He knew that he was strong, but he was still just as afraid as he was. Roxas was human. And Zexion wasn't the kind of person that made friends easily. He didn't go out of his way to talk to others or get close to them. But, he wanted to be Roxas' friend. He really, truly did.

And now, he would never get the chance.

"Did he say anything… before he went," Zexion pried, eyes swiveling upwards to watch Demyx's face. The blond just blinked at him, his mouth quirking slightly to the side, his eyes widening in something like recognition.

"Oh, no— no, no, no. I am so sorry," Demyx sputtered, leaning so that he was closer to the other. "He's not— No, he's still alive— or he was. When we were at the mainland… everyone was pushing us against the rails and he just— he fell."

Pale lips curved into a smile on their own accord, their owner twisting slightly to the side, one palm coming to rest at the deck's surface to keep him upright. "Do you think he'll be okay," Zexion asked, his voice inflicting upwards with something like hope. If he'd made it back to the mainland, there was a chance that he was still okay, wherever he was. There was a chance that he made it back to the research center, where there was food and shelter and _people_. There was a chance that he would be seeing him again. Maybe not anytime soon, but someday.

And he could wait. He could wait a long time if he had to.

Demyx looked at him for a moment, oceanic eyes squinting at their corners in what was almost a smile. Maybe he was stupid and idealistic; maybe he was just selfish. And maybe, possibly, things worked out sometimes. Realistically and idealistically. "At least _he _knows how to swim."

Zexion blinked, his lips twisting impossibly farther upwards, his chest tightening. And then, he laughed, a euphoric sort of sound that pulled at his throat. It was a happy sort of laugh, something between incredulousness and elation. It didn't take long for Demyx to join him, the people around them staring in something like disbelief, the two of them clutching at their sides as they pressed against the rails.

And maybe, every once in a while, life could work out after all.

* * *

><p><strong>November 18, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Icy blue eyes narrowed at the whitewashed ceiling above them, their owner sighing somewhat dejectedly. He'd thought he'd made it. He'd thought he'd done it— survived this place. He'd honestly thought that everything was going to be okay, that he would never have to come back to the screams and the terror, the scattered bodies and the broken families.<p>

And that he could see Sora again. That he could wake up every day knowing he was right there, that he could touch him and laugh with him. That they could go back to being brothers that had nothing and everything in common all at once.

It was a stupid thought. A stupid, idealistic thought that he should have never humored. One that he should have thrown away as soon as it had tugged at him, as soon as it had begun to form in his mind and pull at his chest.

But, he hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted to throw it away. He'd wanted to hold it and cherish it until it came true, because it was a beautiful thought. Stupid and idealistic and _beautiful_. He lost everyone else in the outbreak. Everyone. He lost his friends, his grandparents, even his teachers. There was no one left but Sora. And Roxas missed him so much. It was almost unbelievable how much he missed him, how much he wanted to see him again. He was annoying some of the time and an idiot _all_ the time, but right here— right now— he would do anything to see him again.

Anything but wish he was here too.

Anything but wish he was trapped on the mainland with him. Anything but wish he had watched their friends die or been trapped in that truck. Anything but wish he'd been there when he and their grandparents had hidden in the basement below their rickety old house, when their grandfather had pushed Roxas out of the way, taken the bite that was meant for him. Taken the death that was meant for him.

Sora didn't need to see that, the death and the decay. He didn't need to see any of it. And if it had to be between the two of them, Roxas was glad he was the one left on the mainland, the one who had to see everything. It wasn't what he wanted out of life or what he was thinking when he'd hugged Sora good-bye before he'd boarded the plane, but if this was the way things had to be, he was grateful. Grateful that it was him and not Sora, grateful that he was the one who might not make it.

Out of the two of them, Sora would always be his favorite.

Blue orbs rolled at the thought, a wiry sort of smile pulling at the corners of his chapped lips, his fingers tip-tapping against the white mattress below him, the bandage wrapped around his leg pulling at the appendage as he sat up. The smile grew as he looked around him, the stark white walls hiding two doors at their corners, a mirror reflecting his face back at him, honey blond spikes askew. He'd been here before. And he supposed that there were worse places to be. He'd certainly expected less when he fell from the transport, when he'd returned to the mainland slightly downstream, the screams and the stench and the _cold _seeping in.

He'd expected to die. He'd expected to run until he couldn't run anymore, until his feet were bloody and his pants had made their way all the way down his hips. He'd expected to be eaten, to be torn limb from limb by teeth and claws and rot. He hadn't expected to be swept up in the heat of the madness, fiery red hair and sunglasses grabbing at him, wrapping him in their dark cloth and hushed words, gunshots echoing around them, tugging at his waterlogged ears.

He wasn't awake for very long after that, and he wasn't entirely sure what happened at all. But he had his suspicions. And the more he thought about it, the more his smile grew into something like a smirk, his back hitting the mattress and the air leaving his lungs in one elated sort of breath.

"_Nice to see you're still alive in there, Roxy."_

A button nose scrunched, freckles crinkling at the motion. He looked back toward the ceiling, the distorted voice from the speakers echoing in his head as he contemplated the never-ending whiteness, the end and beginning of everything. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he quipped, his lips moving of their own accord, easily falling back into the banter they'd grown so accustomed to.

Laughter floated through the speakers, the sound ghosting over him in wisps, his fingers tightening against the bleached sheets, his toes curling inward. _"Your quarantine should be up soon. It's kind of against the rules, but I can bring you down a sandwich or something later, if you want."_

"What? No crème brûlée, stuffed turkey with all the fixings? And here I thought we were friends." His eyes began to water, the ceiling above blurring as his voice broke, that smile still pulling at his lips, elation still pulling at his chest.

Another round of laughter drifted through the speakers, the water at his eyes leaking at their corners. _"I'll see what I can do. No promises, man."_

Roxas swallowed heavily, a lump catching in his throat, the water running down his temples in silent tears. He had an impossible dream. A dream where the world went back to the way it was supposed to be. A dream where no one was afraid. A dream where he got to see Sora again. And right now, that dream wasn't going to become reality. But… "Thanks, Axe."

He was grateful all the same.

* * *

><p><strong>November 19, 2011<strong>

* * *

><p>Thin shoulders weaved through the crowd, shouts pressing against her ears, the fingers tangled around her own tightening as they made their way closer to the docks where more and more people gathered. Oceanic eyes searched the people before them, the people who were slowly disembarking from the ship, their bodies but husks with their shallow cheeks and sunken eyes. She shuddered as they reached the edge of the gathering, barricades preventing them from moving any farther, wisps of blonde hair falling against pale skin as the breeze brought the smell of the sea to her nose. There were so many people coming from the mainland… and she didn't see him. She didn't see Demyx anywhere.<p>

"What if he's not here," she asked, her voice breaking as the crowd of people coming from the boat began to thin, each of them congregating into lines to receive their living arrangements as the soldiers instructed. What was she going to do if he wasn't… if he wasn't on the boat? If he didn't make it? Demyx was her everything. She had Kairi, but Kairi wasn't her brother. She couldn't fix things like he could. She couldn't make miracles happen just for her. That's what brothers were for. And her brother— her _Demyx_— he was the best at making miracles.

"He'll be here," Kairi reassured her, tightening her grip on her fingers, loose strands of red hair flapping against her shoulders. Naminé glanced at her fleetingly before returning her attention to the boat, her heart sinking farther and farther into her chest. There were only a few people coming from the boat now, straggling behind the others, looking a little more broken than the others with blankets pulled over their shoulders, with bandages holding them together.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head in something like desperation, blonde strands slapping against her cheeks. He had to be here. He just _had_ to. She needed to apologize for being so mean to him when they were younger. She needed to tell him how much she loved him for drawing her pictures, for kissing her nicks and scraps, for being there when their parents weren't. She need to see him again, to hug him and never let go. She needed him to still be _alive_.

"Naminé! Look, look," Kairi exclaimed from beside her, her nimble fingers letting go of her own to lean over the barricade. "Demyx! Demyx! We're here! We're here!"

Oceanic orbs went impossibly wide as she saw him, sliding down the side of the ramp with a limp in his step and a sling on his arm, an impossibly wide smile on his face. And he didn't look like she remembered. He didn't have that same rosy tint to his cheeks or that same light in his eye. He looked ragged and worn and—

She'd never been so happy in her life.

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, she stumbled over the barricade, her shoes catching as she went over, Kairi trying to hold her shirt to keep her from running, from getting them into trouble. She didn't care. She'd never cared so little about anything in her life. Naminé hit the cement near the docks hard, the harsh surface biting at her knobby knees as she picked herself up, ignoring the shouting behind her, ignoring Kairi's hand as she yanked herself free from the barricade and the crowd. And she ran, her worn sneakers slapping against the concrete and the wood at the dock, her body dodging the hands that tried to grab her, tried to hold her back.

And then she was there, leaping at her brother, bowling him over and back against the ramp, the two of them hitting the ground with a thud. She didn't care. She just hugged him tighter and tighter, her slender fingers knotting in his shirt, tears pressing into his chest like they would never stop again. "I love you," she mumbled over and over, the words crawling from her throat as her chest heaved.

Demyx tightened his arms around her, his back still pressed against the ramp, pain flaring at his arm. She felt thinner than he remembered, her slender frame pressing against him as if it never wanted them to be apart again. But… he'd missed her so much. So, so much. And here she was. Alive and well and— he couldn't ask for anything more than that.

He didn't know how long the two of them stayed like that, with Naminé whispering against his chest, with him holding her against him, but he felt Zexion pull at his hand, trying to get them up and away from the ramp. Demyx smiled at him, blowing wisps of his sister's blonde hair out of his face as he sat up, Naminé coming up with him, still refusing to let go. The people below them stared as they made their way from the ship and toward the others from the mainland, but Demyx barely noticed them. And before long, they were away from the docks completely, shuffled away from the crowds by Luxord and a few of the other soldiers, questions about their living arrangements and provisions pressing against their ears.

And then there was the silence of the Islands, the ocean breeze pushing against the small ocean front homes, the three of them standing together, Zexion standing to the side as Naminé continued to press against Demyx. She was still crying, tears spilling from her eyes so like her brother's, her fingers still knotted into the fabric of his worn clothes.

"Naminé," Kairi shouted as she ran to meet them, stopping a few feet away, her hands at her knees as she caught her breath. And she smiled when she looked at them, all pearly white teeth and barely seen freckles. "I told you he'd be here, didn't I," she stated cheekily, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

And Demyx never really realized how much he missed her too, with all that red hair and those quipped remarks. "And I'm not going anywhere," he told her, a genuine smile stretching across his lips. He pulled Naminé away from his side, bending in just the slightest way to look into her red-rimmed eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm not going anywhere," he repeated in a whisper just for her.

Naminé nodded, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her oversized shirt, her body ridged as she tried to keep herself still, as she tried to keep herself from plastering against his side again, tried to keep reminding herself that this wasn't a dream. This was reality. She wasn't going to wake up any moment to find him gone again. He was there. He was really there. "I'd never let you," she finally said, her voice cracking as she wiped at her eyes.

Demyx laughed, a laugh that she thought she would never have the chance to hear again, the sound echoing against her ears like it did when they were children. She'd missed it. It hadn't even been three months since the last time she'd seen him and she felt like so much had changed. And then, so much hadn't. He didn't look the same as he did before she'd left. He didn't have the same carefree sort of air he had when she'd left him at the airport, when she'd hugged him good-bye, but… he could still laugh. He could still make all her worries go away with that smile of his.

And he was still her brother. He always would be.

"So, boys," Kairi smiled, her pretty blue eyes swiveling between Demyx and Zexion, the boy she'd never met before, "would you like to see your new home?"

The dirty blond straightened, leaning against Zexion's shoulder as he came to stand closer, that smile still stretched across his lips. He had a lot of things he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Naminé and Kairi about everything on the mainland— the good and even some of the bad. He wanted to tell her and Kairi about everything Axel had done for him, about the sacrifices he'd made to make sure he made it here. He wanted to tell them about the good in people— the facility of soldiers and scientists and the blond boy who could push Axel's button faster than anyone could before. And he wanted to tell them about all the souls that were lost, all the people that didn't make it, because people cared about them— and so did he.

But for now, all of that could wait. He had all the time in the world.

"Yeah. We'd like that very much."

* * *

><p><strong>Picking Up the Pieces<strong>

**July 26, 2012**

* * *

><p>"You're doing it wrong."<p>

"I'm not. I'm doing it differently."

"You're doing it differently if differently means _wrong_."

Axel swore under his breath, nimble fingers closing up the envelopes like he'd been told to. Only, he wasn't doing it exactly as he was told because that took too long and he had enough damn paper cuts. Seriously. It wasn't like skipping a step or two was going to mess up the mail delivery. "Differently as in _better_."

"Axel," Roxas groaned, resting his chin on his palm, elbow situated precariously on the worn desk in front of them, tattered sneakers scuffing along the linoleum floor.

"Roxy," he replied in a sing song tone, paper cut fingers dropping the finished— very much closed— envelope into the cardboard box at his side. He leaned back in his chair, the cheap plastic creaking under his weight as he balanced on its back two legs, his own lanky limbs scrunching to push against the top of the desk. He shot Roxas a cheeky grin. The blond just rolled his eyes with a huff and a turn of his head. That was fine. Axel was pretty sure he was trying to hide a smile anyway.

The redhead stretching, covering his mouth as he yawned, strands of hair falling from his ponytail and falling into his eyes. It was hard to believe that they were running for their lives less than a year ago. Things had settled down so much after the transport left. There were still problems— hiccups of outbreaks here and there, with hordes still coming out at night— but people weren't as afraid as they used to be. There wasn't as much fear permeating the air. The stench didn't seep into his bones like it did before.

Things were going back to normal.

He laughed aloud at the thought, a snickering sort of sound that had Roxas raising one blond eyebrow and quirking his lips to the side. Axel just shrugged at him, smiling back in a way that had the blond turning his head again. Normal. It was a silly thought, really. That this was normal. If the outbreaks hadn't happened, he'd probably be getting ready for college now, fighting with Demyx about who really had the best pizza in Atlantica, trying to have the biggest blowout summer before he officially became an adult— not working as a mailroom attendant. Not sitting in a plastic chair eight to twelve hours a day, six days a week. Not surrounded by missing persons files and random provisions that somehow never fit into the storage closet just down the hall.

But hey, he couldn't complain. It could be worse.

He— the kid brother that kept messing up— was an adult now. And he was okay with that. He'd earned the title. He didn't get the chance to finish high school; he would probably never get to go to college. But, he'd sent his best friend across an ocean to safety without him. He'd nearly killed a guy in a gas station— and then missed him when he was gone. He'd shot a man because he'd had to. He'd watched the brother he'd always looked up to swallow his pride and lean on him for a while. And… somewhere along the way, he'd grown up.

"Stop smirking like that. You look like a moron."

"Oh, Roxy. Why must you wound me so?" Just not completely. And he didn't think he ever would. But, he could live with that.

One honey blond eyebrow rose. "Keep calling me that and I'll really wound you."

"But I love you," Axel sang, smirking like the Cheshire Cat, pearly white teeth clashing with his bright red hair, lankly legs stabilizing him against the desk as the plastic chair beneath him continued to wobble.

"If this is your love, I'm surprised your brother hasn't carved you up like a turkey yet," Roxas quipped, lips pulling upwards at the edges in the familiar way that they always did when he was around Axel, the bite behind his words broken by the scrunch of his button nose, by the mirth behind his icy blue eyes.

"And here I'd thought we'd broken you of your homicidal tendencies, Roxy," Axel chided. "Now, repeat after me," he cleared his throat, placing his right hand in the air in some sort of mock pledge, "I shall not kill. People are friends. They are not—"

Roxas cut him off with a punch to the arm that sent him flying backwards, the unsteady chair losing its balance and giving out beneath him, red hair and lanky limbs spreading out over the linoleum. The blond choked on a laugh, clutching at his sides as he bent toward his knees. Acidic green eyes stared back at him, looking almost flabbergasted as they tried to understand just how they managed to get onto the floor.

Axel got up a few seconds later, laughing as he rubbed at his arm. "I am so going to kill you."

"Now, now, now," the blond tutted. "Homicidal tendencies, Axel. Homicidal tendencies. And you were doing such a good job, consulting the pledge and everything."

"You are such an ass." Green orbs rolled.

"Umm, is this a bad time?"

Axel stopped, turning his head to the door of their makeshift little station. There was a woman standing at the door, one hand on the knob like she wanted to bolt, one foot inside as if she was determined to stay. She was hardly over five feet tall, with a thin build and jutting bones. Her skin was pale and her clothes were worn, hanging off of her in tatters. And beneath her tinted hair, there was a pair of deep blue eyes that he was sure he'd seen before.

She'd probably gotten lost on her way to the cafeteria. The hallways were tricky after all.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. Do you need directions," he asked, righting his chair and taking a seat at the desk. Roxas looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, a light frown appearing on his lips like it tended to when he was thinking.

The woman didn't move for a moment. She simply stared, knotting her fingers in her clothes, swallowing thickly. Finally, she took a step forward, allowing the door to swing closed behind her. "This is the mail room. I need to mail a letter," she whispered to the room at large, those deep blue eyes of hers not quite looking him in the eye, her shoulders squared like she wasn't going to be leaving until she got what she wanted.

Axel tilted his head slightly to the side, bringing one hand up to push loose strands of hair out of his eyes. "Well, you've come to the right place. Do you have the letter ready to mail?"

The woman swallowed again, walking up to the desk and pulling the crumpled envelope out of her pocket, smoothing it out between her fingers like it was something precious. "I don't know the address. The registry didn't say."

"Okay. We have address listings here. Just hand over the letter and we can have it sent to Destiny Islands by the end of the week." The redhead held his hand out, gently taking the letter from the woman, eyes widening at the name. "You're looking for Zexion Snow?"

She swallowed. "The registry said he was on the transport to the Islands. I just— I need him to get the letter."

And the look on her face was almost desperate, almost scared in a way he could remember. "We'll send it. We have the address on file."

The woman nodded, slowly backing away from him and reaching for the door. "Thank you," she said, a soft smile turning her lips as she opened it.

Axel stood, leaning over the desk, cheap chair clattering in the process. "They aren't allowing anyone to go to the Islands yet, but they've scheduled a transport for some time in September. I could put you on the list if you want. There's still room."

She shook her head, tinted hair slapping at her cheeks, that smile growing sadder and sadder right before his eyes. "No, thank you. I've— I've done enough damage."

And with that she was gone, sliding back out the door like she'd never been there, one white letter sitting on his desk. The door opened again a second later, just as he was sliding back into his chair. Skinny features nearly identical to his own brought a smile back to his face.

"Guess who brought sandwiches."

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><p><strong>August 3, 2012<strong>

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><p>Zexion wiped at his brow, nimble fingers coming up to rub at his raw shoulders, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin, his hair plastering to the nape of his neck. He smiled crookedly at the boxes before him, each now filled with the required amount of fruits and vegetables, cans of meat sticking out here and there. It wasn't lavish by any means, but it was food. And after everything he'd been through, he couldn't really ask for more than that.<p>

"Staying overtime again?"

He smiled at the question, twisting to look toward the front of the warehouse, boxes scattered around him, littering the floor and stacked up the walls. Demyx stood in the doorway, leaning against the building's frame in that charming way of his, a carefree smile stretched across his permanently chapped lips, sunburnt skin stretching at his shoulders. The sun was going down behind him, the last of the daylight illuminating the warehouse, an impossibly long shadow stretching out from in front of him, just barely touching at Zexion's toes. "Someone has to," he replied cheekily. "I'm nearly finished."

Demyx quirked his mouth to the side, stretching his arms overhead as he walked farther into the building, clumsy feet knocking a box here and there. He stopped when he got closer, collapsing onto the empty table at Zexion's side, the legs creaking as he laid down across it, huffing and sighing. Zexion just rolled his eyes, shaking his head, sweaty hair tapping against his cheeks. "Tired," he asked, as he began to grab the boxes at his feet and pack them away.

The dirty blond grunted, laughing a bit at the sound, oceanic blue eyes turned toward the dusty ceiling overhead. "Mail duty today," he stated by way of explanation.

Zexion sighed sympathetically. No one ever wanted mail duty. The Islands were crowded and some people moved houses almost daily in the hopes of finding somewhere with a little more room. Whoever ended up with mail duty always ended up running around the Islands for hours trying to find every last person on their list, no matter what the weather happened to be. Most people complained until they were given another assignment, but Demyx never begged his way out of it— which was probably why he ended up on mail duty two or three times a week.

"Sorry," he mumbled a few moments later, coming up to rest his elbows against the table, his face directly over Demyx's, oceanic orbs meeting the darkest of blues. "No swimming lessons today?"

Demyx blew at his hair childishly, tinted locks billowing in the false wind, his deep blue eyes squeezing shut, his button nose scrunching. The dirty blond just laughed, sticking his tongue out at him as soon as he opened his eyes again. "You're not getting out of it that easily."

Zexion smiled at him, resting his head on one of his palms, his other hand coming to play with the loose strands of Demyx's hair. "Pity. I tried."

"And that's your best effort," Demyx asked with one eyebrow raised, leaning against the slender fingers brushing against his scalp.

"It's been a long day," Zexion tried, his voice tilting questioningly, a devious little lilt in his speech. His smile widened at Demyx's disbelieving laugh.

"Not buying it," he announced, crossing his arms over his chest, those oceanic eyes of his filled with mirth. "Even Naminé has better excuses than that."

"But you'd never deny her a thing," Zexion quipped.

"Guilty as charged." Demyx rolled off of the table in one smooth motion, his clothes twisted at his sides. And he looked almost ridiculous with his reddened skin and his childish eyes that had no right to still look at him like that, but Zexion couldn't help but follow his every movement, to smile at him as he moved. "Oh," he exclaimed suddenly, embarrassment spreading across his cheeks as he patted at his jeans, pulling a crumpled envelope out of his pocket and holding it out to him. "This came for you in the mail today. It's from the facility at the mainland."

Zexion looked at him quizzically as he grabbed it, his eyes narrowing slightly at the handwriting on the envelope. The address was undeniably Axel's, but his name… it was just like he'd remembered it. He blinked, shaking his head with a little smile, tucking the crumpled paper into the front pocket of his jeans. "Are you ready to go?"

"Aren't you going to open it?"

He shook his head, smiling at the blond as he shuffling backward toward the door of the warehouse, the dying sunlight stretching his shadow, making it dance across the wall.

"It can wait."

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><p><strong>AN: And so it ends. It's taken me a long time to write this story, and I think I've changed a lot in the time it's taken me to get from the beginning to the end. It was a real challenge for me to write and very much out of my comfort zone, so I'm glad that I did manage to finish this. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I've gone back and forth between loving and hating this story so many times that I doubt I'll ever figure it out, but I am proud of it in an odd sort of way and that's enough for now.**

**Honestly, I don't have much to say about this chapter. The ending wasn't as climactic as it was plotted to be, but I think it works better this way. There isn't really supposed to be an ending, because life keeps moving on no matter what happens. There's really no such thing as an end, just as there is not such thing as a beginning, if that makes any sense at all. **

**As it is, I want to thank everyone who made it to the end, all the reviewers and shadow readers and so on. Without all of you sending me reviews and alerts letting me know that people were still reading, I never would have managed to get this far (with this story or any other). And I would also like to send a special thanks to those of you who took the time to PM me after chapter 7. It really meant a lot to me. **

**Production: I think that this will be my last chapter story. I don't have the time to update as often as I should, so I think it will be better for me to stick to one-shots or three-shots. **

**A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Stories (Also, all signed reviews are responded to)**


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